


Nobody Expects The Shinobi Inquisition

by Azremodehar



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Naruto
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Fade Shenanigans, Fucking Kishimoto and his Fucking Child Soldiers, Gen, He's A Goddamn Jounin, He's Also Like Fifteen Though, I Mean He Has A Fucking Mangekyou, No Beta We Die Like Shisui, Sharingan OP Pls Nerf, Shisui Is OP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 45,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29282646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azremodehar/pseuds/Azremodehar
Summary: In an act of classic Uchiha Melodrama, Uchiha Shisui leaps to his death... only to be thwarted when he wakes up, chained up and in a dungeon, with a splitting pain in his left hand.
Comments: 81
Kudos: 81





	1. At Least You're Not Dead

**Author's Note:**

> BIGGEST OF THANKS to Tyger for pre-reading and encouraging this madness, and at least catching my more egregious typoes. 
> 
> Working titles included: 'pls send halp', and 'what the fuck am I writing'. 
> 
> ETA: Fixed some tense problems and one little thing that I thought I had already fixed orz

**Chapter 1: At Least You’re Not Dead**

Shisui wakes to the sensation of cold, damp stone, and bound arms and feels a moment of deep, bitter despair--Danzo  _ has him _ , has something  _ planned _ \--but Indra's bones his left hand is  _ killing _ him, that kind of deep ache that means something is badly damaged, and sure, he jumped from a waterfall, but he doesn't remember getting that kind of injury  _ there _ , and he reflexively opens his eyes to look--

Well.

_ Well. _

Isn't  _ that _ a surprise?

Because he can see just fine, which is sort of amazing for someone who's had his eyes ripped out. And now that he thinks about it, yeah, he can feel his sharingan right there where it  _ should _ be. So.

"Am I dead?" he wonders out loud. "Did I fuck things up so damned badly that I ended up in some kind of Hell instead of the Pure Lands?" The heavily armed and armoured guards that he can just barely see from his position doesn't answer, to nobody's surprise. The armour doesn't look like anything any shinobi would wear though, more like the kind of gear the daimyou's ceremonial guard would wear, or other samurai types he guesses. Hard to move around in anyway.

Of course if the point of them is to provide a physical barrier that a prisoner can't move through, they might just be effective. Barely. A little. For a while. The thought makes Shisui want to giggle, but then the hysterics he's been fighting ever since he woke up alive and intact--aside from the weird green glowing bullshit in his hand, what the  _ fuck _ \--also kind of make him want to giggle, so that's nothing new.

Instead of thinking about that, Shisui turns his thoughts to escape; he'll probably wait until someone comes along to tell him why he's locked up in here, but then he's  _ out _ . He doesn't have his hitaiate or his mesh, or his holster, or any obvious weapons, but he's still in his usual clothes otherwise, which means hidden ninja wire and exploding tags hidden between layers of cloth although somebody found the senbon in his shoes and pants' seams. He can feel the tags and wire when he shifts though, and though they shackled his hands too far apart to make a hand sign, the shackles are old, and not very sturdy--he can feel the traces of rust against his skin--and if worst comes to worst, he can always use a genjutsu on the guard, although signs (he  _ has _ his  _ eyes _ ahahahahaha) point to  _ these people have no idea they have an Uchiha _ and he doesn't intend to enlighten them if he can help it.

There's a knock on the door, and the guard on the door steps forward, letting Shisui get a good look at the crest of a flaming sword he's wearing on his armour, and also letting the door swing... inwards, okay, now he knows where the hinges are.  _ Thank you very much for the information. _

In through the door comes a stern-looking woman, with short dark hair and a scar on her face that reminds Shisui of his mother.  _ Great _ . They look nothing alike but he'll never be able to unsee it. Though maybe there  _ is _ some connection, since the crest on  _ her _ armour is like an eye radiating chakra. Huh. Right on her heels is  _ definitely _ the person who relieved him of his senbon: red hair, hidden, like half her face, in the shadow of her hood, dark purple clothes, and a light warchain tunic(?) that doesn't even whisper as she moves.

Great. Maybe they  _ are _ professionals. Of a sort.

Professionals-of-a-sort it soon turns out, with whom he does not share a single blessed  _ word _ . They're not faking it, either; Quasi-Shinobi Lady probably could, but Definitely Not Ma has the short temper and forthright bulging muscles of a dedicated frontliner, and why bother with subterfuge when you can hit things instead AND have a friend to do the sneaky shit for you? Yeah, Shisui knows the types.

The pair of them pace around Shisui, saying threatening--and not-threatening--things in their language, and he gives them his very best look of blank non-comprehension. And then Definitely Not Ma grabs his left hand, and Shisui reflexively yelps and yanks it away--

"What the  _ hell _ lady?" he demands. His hand sparks, and another surge of that unfortunate kind of pain surges up his arm, making him hiss, and swallow back against the pain.

His words--and his reaction, but mostly his words--bring them up short. Quasi-Shinobi looks at him and says something in another, equally incomprehensible language. Huh. More than one in common parlance? That's unusual. Shisui shakes his head.

"Nope."

Not Ma tries yet a  _ third _ what the  _ hell _ , and again he shakes his head; that seems to be universal, thankfully. The pair of them argue again, and Quasi-Shinobi stalks off, leaving Not Ma to pull Shisui to his feet. She keeps talking as she exchanges the bar shackle for wrist bindings, which is nice, because he can slip them in like three seconds, and his hands are  _ together _ if inconveniently placed for handsigns. He can do it, he totally can, but he might dislocate something still.

He memorises the path as they go, not that it's a terribly complicated one: up the stairs, down the hall (weird architecture, lots of stone, rows of benches, something at the far end that makes him think of a shrine), out the door--hello sunlight--and--

"What the  _ fuck _ is that?!" 'That' being the glowing green thing in the sky and  _ oh no _ that's why everyone's so... so  _ stroppy _ with him. Shisui looks at his hand. Looks up. Wriggles his hand around so he can hold it up and yep same--

He staggers, and bites back a scream as that sickening  _ badwrong _ pain in his hand, shooting up his arm, into his shoulder. Part of him notices distantly that the green thing in the sky pulses and crackles in synch with the green thing in his hand, and he has a distant feeling that he's fucked.

He was fucked anyway, he was  _ dead _ , but he's had a few minutes of being maybe not dead, and kind of liking it, and he's really not into that whole being dead  _ again _ thing.

(Besides. Like this. Maybe he can get back to Itachi. Maybe he can help, somehow.)

Oh. The pain actually drove him to his knees, he realises, as Not Ma kneels in front of him, and takes his hands with a--considering the circumstances--surprisingly gentle touch. He can still feel the strength under her gloves, but it's nice, for a moment.

When she's sure she has his attention, she points to the green thing in the sky, says one word, and repeats it again, firmly.

"Breach?" Shisui repeats obediently, and she nods.

"Wow it's been like, twelve hours since I saw a face like  _ that _ ," he quips, nodding to one of the scowls. Not Ma says something in reply, and he doesn't know the words, but he knows the tone, the looks, and he's a pretty smart guy: they blame him for something. And if he has to guess, Shisui would say that the thing they blame him for? Is big, green, and connected to his hand. With another sigh, he lets his shoulder droop a little, and makes himself look at least at young as he is. Some people won't be fooled, but most of the people here are civilians who have no idea he's an Uchiha (despite the prominent crest on his back; he knows  _ those _ looks, and  _ that _ hostility, and they have little in common with  _ these _ looks and  _ this _ hostility), and will probably start feeling uneasy when they realise he's a 'child', or close to one in age.

A pair of gates open for them, and Shisui follows Not Ma out--until she turns toward him with a knife. He doesn't sense any hostile intent, but--

"Whoa, wait," he says, holding his hands up between them. With an impatient scowl, Not Ma points to the bindings, and makes a cutting gesture--okay, Shisui gets it, but instead of letting her cut, he slips the bindings, and trades them for the knife, vanishing it into a pocket with a cheeky "Thanks!"

She takes a step towards him, a note of demand in her words, and Shisui puts on his best 'confused innocent' face. He can tell she wants to say something, but she doesn't waste time trying, instead just pointing at him in a  _ 'just you wait, mister!' _ kind of way, and gesturing sharply for him to follow.

More out of curiosity--and desire not to die by mini-Breach--than anything, Shisui does.

Even though he half expects it, he’s still disappointed that their path leads toward the mountain—and the Breach. The path was wide and well-trod, but covered in snow, hastily improvised cavalry-blockades set at regular intervals, soldiers positioned behind them, archers paired with spears, and not a shinobi in sight--just ordinary soldiers. There were signs of battle here and there in the scuffed up snow, but not nearly as much blood as he would have anticipated had they been faced with a similarly-sized force.

Not Ma leads him up and around the mountainside, and the mini-Breach in his hand almost drives Shisui to the ground again with a sudden crackling surge. Not Ma exclaims, and mutters something to herself. Shisui straightens, and tips his head toward the bridge he can see ahead.

"I'm guessing that's the way to go?" he asks, exaggerating the question just a little. Not Ma just gestures for him to follow, a little impatient now that he's back on his feet.

From this side of the ridge, it's easy to see that the Breach isn't just sitting there, looking terrifying and making his hand hurt. It's throwing out green fire, and rocks, and--one of them slams into the bridge just as Not Ma starts to lead him across it, and Shisui reflexively catches her, and leaps back to solid ground. He puts her down before she can start to demand he do so, and then moves to reflexively parry the--monster or whatever--that goes for their backs. Yeah, all he has is a pocket knife, but that's honestly more than enough.

Not Ma spits something that sounds like a curse, and draws the sword at her side; a quick glance shows fine steel, polished and sharp. Good. She snarls something, and dives into the fray. Without a word, Shisui follows her, covering her back, and darting to-and-fro--

It gets easier when he sees a short sword with a double-edged blade glittering in a pile of detritus in the chasm formerly crossed by the bridge, and leaps down to lay claim to it. A quick second glance shows longer blades, a scattering of arrows, and an odd-looking staff; he grabs a handful of the arrows, and uses his shunshin to cross the distance to Not Ma, and take out the monster leaping for her back. She pivots on her heel, and he moves with her, ducking as she raises her shield, and then rolling under it and throwing the arrows like cut-rate kunai into the monster that meets him there.

Like the rest so far, it melts into some kind of goo, and not a drop of blood. It explains some of what he saw back in the ascent. He waits a moment longer, and when there's no sign of anything else coming, he moves, and gives Not Ma her space, and reflexively leaps back, blade held parallel to his arm in a defensive stance, as Not Ma demands, with use of gestures and a stern voice, that he disarms.

Shisui makes a point of looking exaggeratedly around, ending on the patch of good that marks the one that almost had her, and says very firmly, "No."

If she insists, he thinks, things could get annoying; Not Ma is the one who knows what's going on here, and Shisui would  _ really like _ to know what's going on here, he really really would. (He would like to get back home to Itachi, to his clan and his village. But how? He has no idea. He has had no chance to  _ get _ an idea.)

She gives him a thin-lipped look, and even without his sharingan Shisui can see the moment she capitulates, before she resheathes her sword, and nods.

"So what was  _ that? _ " he asks, gesturing at the smears of goo that were all that remained of their foes. She glances at the mess, and back at Shisui, and says one word, very clearly:

"Demons."

"Whatever the hell 'demons' is," Shisui mutters to himself. Gooey monsters, not summons... he can go with 'demons'. The sounds of sudden battle erupt ahead of them, and Shisui doesn't hesitate to hurl himself ahead, shunshin carrying him to the vantage, and then into the fray, a glance all he needs to take in the fighters: a bald man using a  _ staff _ of all things to sling his jutsu without taking time to use a single hand sign, before moving into close combat with the staff itself, and a short, broad man with a crossbow who moves nimbly through the battlefield, fighting with tools and traps as well as the crossbow, and all Shisui can think is  _ finally, some shinobi. _

Not that there's anything wrong with the kind of straightforward warrior Not Ma is, he supposes, but they're harder to work with. More likely to disapprove of point blank fireballs and poisoned senbon. Not guaranteed to—Not Ma is working well enough with the two they’ve joined—but more likely.

And it’s easy to duck, and let the chill of Baldy’s (kekkei genkai? It’s ice, it must be) jutsu pass over him to impact the cloaked monster, to turn on his heel and snap an arrow from his hand in tandem with Shorty’s crossbow. (It’s a  _ nice _ crossbow. A serious specialist’s weapon, if he can use it at point blank like that,  _ and _ at range.)

It also lets him see where Not Ma excels—defence and counterattack, drawing attention to herself so that others can take advantage of the openings created. That takes guts. And skill to not end up so much bloody meat paste in the process.

The last of the cloaked monsters falls to a combination of Shisui’s precise strike, and Baldy’s hyoton jutsu—definitely channelled through his staff, what a  _ great _ tool, Shisui  _ wants _ one, on principle—and then the shifting crystal formation that resonates with the mini-Breach in his hand  _ shifts _ , and form a shimmering pane of green light that looks like nothing so much as a window into... he can almost see it, and so he activates his sharingan. He doesn’t think anyone is looking.

There’s another place on the other side, something his mind can’t quite make sense of, not in the bare seconds he has before Baldy’s snatching his hand—how is he so fast?!—and pointing it toward the Green Window, before pulsing his own chakra very precisely into the mini-Breach.

It pushes and pulls through the visible connection like a needle through cloth, using some power outside Shisui—but inside the mini-Breach in his hand, until it closes with something that is almost, but not entirely, unlike having a joint snapped back into place by a raiton jutsu. It leaves his hand tingling, and he pulls it away from Baldy, and shakes it, opening and closing his fingers to ensure that they continue working.

He can hear Shorty and Not Ma exchanging words behind him, but it’s Baldy who has most of his attention still, watching him care for his hand. He says something that Shisui mostly doesn’t understand, though he mentions ‘Breach’. Shisui understands that one.

“For the record, I don’t understand a word you’re saying, except ‘Breach’,” Shisui says. He watches Baldy and Shorty both carefully, but sees no response from either. Until Shorty rolls his eyes and walks over, says a handful of words, and then repeats the last of them:

“Varric Tethras.” He points to himself, easily meeting Shisui’s eyes. (He reminds himself that it’s not a sign of either bravery, foolishness, or trust the way it would be back home.) Repeats again: “Varric.” And  _ yeah _ , Shisui  _ gets it _ , he likes you, Varric.

“Shisui,” he responds. “Just ‘Shisui’ is just fine.” A short bow, and, “Pleased to meet you.” 

“Ah,” says Baldy, along with some more nonsense. “—Solas,” he finishes, inclining his head around his staff. Shisui returns the nod.

“Cassandra,” Not Ma says shortly, and then another string of nonsense—although he’s starting to recognise words, if not their meanings, around the different accents.

“—hurry,” Cassandra says, after several other words. Shisui is starting to recognise that it means a need for haste, and she leads the way again. Shisui takes the middle, along with Solas the ninjutsu specialist, and lets Varric of the fantastic crossbow take the rear.

It’s a minor miracle, but they don’t encounter more than a couple more creepy goo monsters as Cassandra leads them through ruins and rubble to another big bridge, fortified and provisioned, and an incredibly tempting target for any intelligent commander. Shisui would send a squad to lay explosive tags along the underside, and take the whole thing out in one go. Nobody would ever know they were there.

He doubts the ‘demons’ have anyone to do that, but the idea that they could keeps his mind sharp, even through the incomprehensible yelling and gesturing. He gives it no more than half his attention, instead rummaging about for this-and-that in the supplies. He finds what looks like rations, and after checking with Varric—point, mime eating, tilt head curiously, get a laugh from the short man—he starts eating as much as he can.

Other things—string, a handful of nails of the old-fashioned, individually forged type, that sort of thing—find their way into his pockets. The best finds are the roll of paper, the bottle of pre-mixed ink, and the spool of wire. It’s not ninja wire by any means, but it’s not useless either, and he has an idea—

“Shisui!” Cassandra calls, and waves him over to the table with her, Quasi Shinobi, and Angry Shouting Council Man. Not that Shisui really has any idea who he is or what his position, but his hat is quite big, and rather fancy. He starts snarling angrily again when Shisui approaches, but since Cassandra and her partner are ignoring him, he can’t be more than a blowhard; civilians trying to butt in on a military matter. Which is all well and good when they aren’t  _ in the field _ causing problems in an  _ active battlefield _ . Shisui chooses to ignore him as well.

One introduction—Leliana, now that’s a tongue-twister—later, and they have him looking at a map, and, ah, that’s what the debate was about.

The map shows two routes to... the Breach, he guesses. One is direct, and involves a mass of forces—he thinks—and... no. No. The other, coming at it obliquely, through a passage in the mountain, looks better. He taps his finger decisively.

“The mountain path,” he says, and hates that there is a tactical discussion that he can’t be a part of. He might need to let the sharingan cat out of the kekkei genkai bag sooner rather than later, but until he  _ needs _ to, something is telling him,  _ don’t. _ Listening to his instincts has generally done well for him—except that time it got him killed, but, details—and so he goes with it.

They nod in agreement, and start to take off, but Shisui isn’t about to let that happen so easily.

“Leliana,” he calls. “My weapons?” He points to the spot on his hip where his pouch usually sits. And then to his seams, and then his shoulder where his tanto lives. Finally, he taps his forehead. Pointedly. Her lips curve up, very slightly, and the hitaiate and two of the kunai come his way, in a nice, deliberately telegraphed toss. The kunai join the short sword and the pocket knife, and the hitaiate gets tied back to his forehead where it belongs.

In return, he offers her the handful of arrows he has remaining, and she takes them with a wry nod.

He hopes the rest of his stuff is back down in the town he was locked up in. He’ll be very disappointed if it’s gone. Still, even having  _ some _ of his gear back helps. It helps  _ so much _ .

More words that he doesn't understand are exchanged, and then his team is ready to move out.

Climbing the mountain is harder than he expected, since literally  _ none of these people _ know how to walk up a vertical surface. There are ladders and platforms, but they’re  _ slow _ , and even the apparently unflappable ninjutsu specialist Solas is shocked when Shisui just goes right on up. And then right back down with a shunshin, and he says,

“Anyone want a ride?” gesturing to all of them, and then his back, and then up the side of the cliff with a grin.

He's not surprised when Solas immediately takes him up on it, and Shisui takes the pointy-eared guy right on up with the familiar zipping ease of the shunshin. It leaves him briefly laughing with delight, and yeah, okay, Shisui appreciates that. He asks a question--about wall-walking, his gesture toward the wall of the cliff, and walking fingers making it clear--but cuts off an answer, even as Shisui shakes his head, and points at the Big Green Thing In The Sky. He grins, and shoots a salute, and shunshin's back down.

It takes a little more persuasion, but not a lot more, as time is, in fact, short, and Shisui is, in fact, the fastest thing any of these people have ever seen. He knows  _ that _ for certain.

Cassandra, for all her nerves, only takes a moment to regain her bearings; Varric takes even less time, which some might think odd for his apparently-grounded nature, but appearances can be deceiving, and the short man has vast wells of resolve.

A quick series of gestures has the marching order: Shisui on point, as scout, followed by Cassandra, then Solas, then Varric as the rear guard; he’s nimble enough, and has the range to counter no matter where an attack might come from.

The nature of the cave becomes clear at they enter it: an old mine entrance, not long abandoned. There are still old crates of supplies about, and other scattered leavings that might be useful, and between demon attacks, Shisui snags a few things--more nails, a short length of rope, maybe twice Shisui's own height, a crowbar... That last one he almost leaves behind; it's too long and heavy for him to manage in a situation like this, but Varric takes it from him with a particular gleam in his eye, and word of what sounds like 'thanks'.

Cassandra stops him at one point, when the exit of the mine is in sight, and after yet  _ more _ pantomime, he has several vials of something red like blood, that he  _ thinks _ is... healing? Or something like a soldier pill? He's fine so far; hopefully he won't have to try them in a combat situation.

Exiting the mine leaves most of the party blinded; Shisui's eyes are better than that, and so he's the first one to see the bodies laid out before them. They look dead; their chests don't rise and fall. A quick look with his sharingan while everyone is behind him confirms his suspicion, as there is no chakra circulating through them.

He shouldn't look back at his companions. That's a bad idea, asking for trouble. Shisui kneels, and checks the pulse of one of them, and catches a glimpse of crackling green chakra moving beside him just as he deactivates his sharingan. The shape resolves itself into Solas, as Shisui looks over, briefly meeting his eyes. The other man shakes his head, and stands, and a moment after checking the dead woman's pulse--nothing--Shisui does too.

A rock burning with green fire hurtles right for them, and Cassandra pushes to the front, a forceful kiai in her voice as she thrusts her shield out in front of them. Her chakra expands briefly into the shield, in a way that makes the air shimmer around it, deflecting the rock, and leaving licks of green fire dancing on the ground around them.

Shisui gives a low whistle, and claps Cassandra on the shoulder.

"Nice," he starts to say, but there's a scream in the distance, and instead he snaps: " _ Keep up! _ " not even thinking, for a moment, that none of them can understand him. He moves; maybe these aren't his people, but they're not  _ not _ his people. And if he can do something to help, he will.

It's a good thing he moves so quickly, too; a small group of people in the same uniforms as the dead behind him are holding off--

His sharingan activate automatically in response to the sudden  _ threat _ , and his hand moves on its own, catching spindly sharp talons on the edge of a kunai. He draws the short sword with his other hand, and shuts the sharingan down, even as he spins on his toe and forces chakra into the blade, and slashes the demon in half vertically. The blade cracks--cheap metal, even non-chakra metal should be able to take more than one hit--but it does for that demon.

The blade snaps on the next strike, but it damages the second demon. It takes one of Varric's arrows, and one of Solas' chilling ice jutsu, and then Shisui feels something-- _ protective _ settle on his skin, a faint blue shimmer shifting over him--Varric too, he notices. The short man says something over his shoulder to Solas. Probably a thanks; he's heard that word several times now.

He takes notice of the rift hovering over them then, shifting and crystalline, and he  _ wonders... _

...for about five seconds, and then demonic talons are glancing off of his upraised arm. So  _ that’s _ what Solas’ jutsu does.  _ Nice _ . Shisui wonders if it’s some aspect of his hyoton or if anyone can learn it? It’d certainly be nice to add to his collection. Especially since it seems like he applied it to the whole party at once.

The demon trying to slice his arms to ribbons is identical to the one he just dispatched: long, spindly limbs, long, spindly torso; fingers and toes and teeth like knives, and a tail like a whip with a razor at the end. And all an acidic green that almost matches the breach.

It lashes with its tail, and slashes with its claws, and Shisui uses his shunshin to escape, landing well outside its reach—only to see it sink swiftly into a pool or a portal of some kind beneath its feet, and it’s only the fact that he  _ just that fast _ that allows Shisui to shunshin again, avoiding what would have been a  _ nasty _ blow.

And. Where he’s standing now gives him a clear shot at the remaining demons, with no allies in the line of fire, and Shisui’s Ma didn’t raise an idiot.

His hands fly through the signs, and then the demons are introduced to the old Uchiha standby:  _ goukakkyuu no jutsu. _

Shisui makes it big enough to fill the entire area without allies.

As it turns out, it is super-effective.

“Next time self, just open with that,” he mutters, and, sensing that it will be effective now, he pushes chakra into the mini-Breach in his hand, pushing and pulling the way Solas demonstrated before, until the thing finally closes with a burst and a sharp crackle.

The soldiers they rescued babble their probably-thanks, before taking off on Cassandra’s direction; he can follow the cadence of her voice if nothing else. The party is cautious about approaching him; he can hear it in the crunch of snow under their feet--and the lack, he notes, under Solas'--and Cassandra's telegraphed hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

Her voice is stern, but not angry, although her gestures around the battlefield are sharp and chastising--right, right, 'warn your allies before you drop a giant fireball Shisui!' He's only heard it a hundred times. And--

Solas clears his throat, and says something, pointing out to the Breach--oh yeah. It's. Probably. Uh.

"Right," Shisui says. "Let's get going." There's another series of ladders down the cliff face, but climbing seems like too damned much work to him, so like a gentleman, he offers an arm to Cassandra first. She seems almost startled, but takes it, and braces herself for the shunshin, clearly a fast learner.

He takes Varric down next, but is stopped by Solas when he returns for the bald man.

"Shisui," he says, catching his attention and gesturing to the battlefield, and then offering him a blue vial, like the red ones from Cassandra earlier. A little more pantomime--Shisui is getting  _ so sick of this _ \--and he thinks he gets the idea: medicine to restore chakra reserves.

" _ Thanks, _ " he says, using their word. Solas smiles, and then takes Shisui's arm, and lets himself be taken down.

And down here, there terrain can only be described as  _ unnatural _ : Jagged black rock thrusts into the sky like a disordered doton on a lava field. The effect is magnified by the green glow coming from cracks in the rock, as if it were some bit of the Breach made into lava. Around the first corner, there's a dip in the path, and a scattering of burnt corpses, some still flickering with green fire, all caught in moments of pleading or prayer. It's a little unsettling, even for someone like Shisui, who has seen and done so much that a few scorched bodies really shouldn't even register.

There is something here though, that is  _ deeply _ unsettling; it makes his skin crawl, and his eyes itch, and the thing in his hand  _ pulse. _ He flexes his hand to try and ease the sensation, and looks around again.

More bodies than he thought at first glance, most burnt, some old bones, one in... what looks like one piece--the odds are low, but he's over there before he can think of it, checking the man's pulse. He shakes his head when Cassandra catches up. She curses, and looks over the area--the jagged rocks, the bodies, the wrecked masonry in the middle of it all...

"Hey, Cassandra," Shisui says, catching her attention. He points to himself, to his eyes, to the area. "I'll look, you-" he points to her, to her eyes, to her shield "-cover me." He doubts there's anything here that even the legendary Tsunade could save, but it'll nag at him if he doesn't  _ check _ , and he feels like it will Cassandra, too.

"Varric! Solas!" she calls, and gestures them into formation as Shisui starts methodically combing the field. Another short sword finds its way into his belt, single-edged and slightly curved, but much narrower at the tip than any sort of katana. He can still use it, and it's  _ way _ better than not having it with these demon things around.

There's nothing else that catches his eye--certainly no  _ survivors _ \--except one scorched, skeletal corpse, bent backward by the heat, green fire licking out of its eyes like some macabre doujutsu, and it feels so profoundly unsettling, his blood rushes in his ears, and he feels  _ sick _ \--

"-- _ Shisui! _ " Cassandra's voice is sharp, and just outside of his melee reach. Oh, he likes a smart person. He squeezes his eyes shut, and shakes his head, and then opens them up and points to the body with the burning eyes.

"That is  _ superbly _ creepy," he says, and gives a theatrical shudder. " _ Creepy _ ," he repeats. Points at another body, at the jagged rocks, at the green fire: "Creepy, creepy,  _ creepy. _ "

Varric chuckles.

" _ Creepy _ ," he says, no doubt their word for 'creepy', excellent, he now speaks five whole words of the language!

"Okay," Shisui breathes, and points toward the Breach. "Let's go."

The path leads past the fallen man from before, the only one not burnt or bones, and down a short flight of stairs, into a hallway that has seen better days, cracked and battered as it is. There are more bodies--parts of bodies--but nothing that stands out, no weapons or usable parts. A feeling of dread starts pooling in his chest, and Shisui listens to it, and starts stringing his nails along the wire as they go along. The wire likely won't conduct his katon the way ninja wire would, but it's still steel wire, and iron nails, and he can use them to create a raiton cage, with even a tiny baby jutsu for tiny babies.

Beside him, Varric asks a question, gesturing to the trapwork in Shisui's hands, and he grins.

"It's for a raiton cage," he explains. "Raiton-" he raises a finger to the sky, and describes a zigzag line back down "-cage-" and makes a cage with his fingers. Varric makes an interested noise, and nods, speaking two more words. Shisui doesn't think he  _ completely _ understands, but he definitely gets the gist.

And then, around the corner... there it is.

Ghostly green fire swirls between the Breach in the sky, and what looks like an inactive? rift just above the ground. They're clearly connected, almost tied together somehow, and Shisui's hand  _ aches _ . He rubs the palm absently as he stares up into the green. Vast stones spin there, and things--demons, maybe--move between them in a near-hypnotic dance.

Once again, he chances using his sharingan, and the overwhelming blaze of green is lit, ever so briefly, by a dazzling rainbow of chakra.

"Wow." Whatever happens next, Shisui will always be glad he took the chance to look at  _ that _ .

The soft scuff of the politely-loud footstep of an allied shinobi draws his attention, and Shisui deactivates his sharingan as he turns to see Leliana and a squad of her people coming up from the other direction.

"Shisui, Cassandra," she starts. Her words sound relieved to Shisui's ear. They exchange words that mean little to Shisui, so he hops up on a ledge to get a better view of the area below. Cracked ground and green flames, wisps of shadow and light, and nothing nice about any of it at all.

"Hey, Cassandra, Leliana," he calls. "I'm going to scout." Points to his eyes, and gestures in a circle around the area. He doesn't wait for a confirmation--though he sees Cassandra's nod--before taking off, sticking to the tops of the walls and the broken terraces.

Halfway around, he pauses so that whoever is following him--soft feet, deliberately not silent--can catch up. He's expecting Leliana, or maybe Varric, so when he turns and sees  _ Solas _ ... He think he's surprised, but he  _ remembers _ that flicker of Solas' chakra out of the corner of his eye, the same crackling green fire that surrounds them as thickly as the air itself. The way he was able to push his chakra into Shisui's hand, and into the mini-Breach in it.

Nobody can see them from here.

Shisui narrows his eyes.

"Solas," he says.

" _ Yes? _ " the older man replies. Or that's what Shisui thinks he's saying anyway, given previous conversations and context clues... He's going to give himself that sixth word in his vocabulary. Six words is still not enough to convey any nuance, but fortunately, for this, none is required:

"Breach," Shisui says. Points aggressively at his hand. "Mini-Breach." Briefly he crosses his fingers together, and Solas nods, again saying:

" _ Yes _ ." He draws his breath to continue, but Shisui interrupts him with a rudely pointed finger, saying:

" _ Solas. _ " And then links his hands together.

Solas goes pale. Guilt crosses his face, and disbelief, consternation, scheming, indecision--microexpressions all, there and gone in less than a rabbit's heartbeat, but Shisui is an  _ Uchiha _ , and even without using his sharingan, his eyes are keener than most. He doesn't think he's missed much, even in the eldritch green light of the Breach.

His hands tighten on his staff, and Shisui makes a hasty decision.

"Wait," he says, holding up a hand, fingers up, palm flat; hopefully it's a universal gesture like head-shaking. He points to the sun, and gestures from horizon to horizon. "We'll ta-- _ AHH! _ "

The Breach crackles, and spits out more flaming rocks, and Shisui's hand spits out more flaming agony, spiking all the way up into his shoulder, and his heart is  _ racing _ and he can't fucking  _ breathe _ \--

Senbon in his joints--

Razors peeling his skin--

Fireball right to the  _ face _ \--

_ Shimura Danzo-- _

It stops.

It stops  _ enough _ that he can get back to his feet with Solas' help, and then stand on his own after a moment.

"Fuck," Shisui breathes, and then pushes it down, away; he can break down later.

" _ Ir abelas _ ," Solas says, and he sounds very sorry; maybe that's what it means. 'I'm sorry.'

"Later," Shisui says again, and after a moment of hesitation, Solas inclines his head in agreement. "For now, the  _ Breach _ ." This time, Solas nods more decisively.

"Breach," he says, pointing up at it, and slowly drawing it down to: "Rift." He counts on his fingers, " _ One, two, three, _ " is what Shisui guesses. Solas holds his fingers up, and then taps them on his forearm, with three different words--and then again, the same words, and yeah, Shisui gets it,  _ ordinal _ numbers:

" _ First, second, third, _ " Solas says, and Shisui nods. A flicker of an almost-smile crosses Solas' face, and he points back down to the huge rift below. "First Rift," he says.

"Ah." Shisui is starting to get it, he thinks. Solas holds out a closed fist.

" _ Closed _ ," he says. Opens his hand: “ _ Open. Open rift, close rift. Close rift, close Breach. _ ” And then Solas wobbles a hand back and forth, and says: “ _ Maybe. _ ”

Yeah. Yeah, okay, Shisui gets it. Shut down the first rift, and it’ll shut down the Breach. Maybe. He’ll take  _ maybe _ living over  _ for sure _ dying in horrible agony. He nods.

“All right. Let’s do it.”

He jumps down, and heads for the rift, ignoring Solas’ alarmed cry, and the more distant ones from the rest of the squad. Cassandra’s a big girl, she can find her own way down. So can anyone capable of doing this in the first place, even if, as Shisui suspects, it was an accident. Or partially an accident. Regardless, Solas is either the best actor Shisui has ever met (unlikely; that’d be that double-crossing fucking Danzo), or he’s not the kind of man who would fuck shit up  _ this _ badly on purpose.

The rift and its connection to the Breach are even more impressive up close; it’s hard to believe that  _ anybody _ managed this on their own. But Shisui’s going to have to try to shut it down on his own. More or less.

He can see— _ feel _ —why Solas said to open the rift first: it feels unstable, jittery, jagged like glass in his hand. If he pulls it open, it’ll be.  _ Big _ . But probably just feel like an open rift. Which means demons, he supposes. He can deal with that.

Solas’ light footsteps come up behind him, and a little to the left, and even as Shisui raises his hand to start pulling the rift open, Solas stops him, his cool touch gently stilling Shisui’s hand.

“Wait,” he says, and then, “ _ Wait. _ ” He uses his staff to gesture towards where Cassandra and Varric are working their way down. Huh. That’s a surprise; Shisui would have thought Varric would have wanted the height advantage like the other archers.

They stop once, hesitating, and Cassandra reaches out toward something only she and Varric can see—

Genjutsu. He can’t tell what it is from here, but like hell is is  _ Uchiha Shisui _ going to let some enemy catch his team like that. Swiftly he disrupts his chakra, forcefully enough to affect everyone here, including Leliana and her archers. It doesn’t seem like they were caught in it, but better safe than sorry.

Solas gives him an incredulous look, and glances at his hand—at the thing in his hand—and Shisui shakes his head. Seriously, have these people never heard of disrupting your chakra to break a genjutsu?

"Shisui-" ' _ was that you just now? _ ' Or something like that, he guesses, is what Cassandra asks--not  _ quite _ demands--when she reaches them. Shisui shrugs; he doesn't actually know what she's asking. Her lips thin, and she nods her understanding; there’s no way he can explain anything right now.

Turning to Solas, she asks a question about the rift, about the Breach. Solas nods, and gestures to Shisui—ah, he’s supposed to explain? He can do that.

“Open rift,” he says. “ _ 正確と _ close rift, close Breach. Solas  _ と言った _ ,” he finishes, gesturing up at the huge rift above them churning with instability and shifting rocky protrusions.

It makes his entire arm  _ itch _ , and it makes his hand  _ burn _ , and Shisui needs a day or three to get this under control and locked down, but does he get that? No. Shisui doesn’t get nice things, like Itachi and two weeks of leave. He gets horrible things, like being unexpectedly alive without Itachi, and nasty green things in his hand.

Oh well.

Shisui takes a deep breath, and shuts it all away. He has a bad feeling about what he's about to do, and he doesn't need his own thoughts and feelings and hopes and dreams and wishes cluttering his mind while he does it.

He channels his chakra into his hand, and through the mini-Breach, following the instinctive connection between it and the rift--and faintly, the Breach further up. He looks at his hand, and then up to the Breach, thoughtfully; if he had more chakra, he could reach it, too, he thinks, and files it away for later. He doesn't have enough to reach it without killing himself, probably, so it can wait.

The rift is right here, and very reachable, and disturbingly easy to re-open. He thought it would be like picking a seam, but it's more like just pulling a pin, and the whole thing falls open.

He takes the risk, once again, with everyone else at his back, to watch the rift open up with his sharingan, to watch as something so big it can best be described as  _ hulking _ slips through--

Smaller things move beyond it, in a space that his mind can't quite  _ grasp _ , for all that he can see it just fine... It feels like looking at somebody else's dream. Honestly Shisui wants to see more, but he doesn't get the chance; the big spiky demon lashes out with a raiton whip--he  _ sees _ it, how the demon casts it, before he deactivates his sharingan, and he tucks that away for later consideration--that he has to dodge, and laughs with an impossibly deep voice, and yeah, Shisui's gonna just his that with a fireball, and cast out his wire with nails, wrapping it around the demon, catching in the plates of the creature's armour.

Then he has to get out of the way again, dodging a massive fist that swings way too fast for something that big. Varric, Leliana, and her archers are methodically filling it with arrows, but it's not very effective; the demon just laughs, and casts its lightning whip again, swinging it almost lazily, knocking over most of the squad.

Solas manages to get out of the way with a shunshin of his own, one that leaves a cold breeze swirling around his feet as he lands near Shisui.

"Shisui," he says. "Rift..." He shakes his left hand jaggedly, and,  _ oh _ , there's an idea.

Shisui flings out a hand, and connects his chakra to the rift again, before sharply disrupting it. It sends out a  _ crack _ of green light, and drives the demon to its knees. Cassandra gives a rallying cry, and a moment after Solas strikes it with his icy jutsu, Cassandra throws her chakra into a massive shield bash, cracking the demon's armour.

This is Shisui's chance, and he takes it: his raiton is nothing to his katon, but he can manage something that can hit the wire, and follow the channel of the nails to get under the demon's armour.

It roars, and throws off the swordsmen picking at it, rising to its feet again.

"Hey, Solas," Shisui says, and flexes his left hand pointedly, as he asks, "Again?" Solas glances at Shisui's hand, and--

" _ Fuck! _ " Shisui exclaims, grabbing Solas, and using the shunshin to move them both out of the way, over near Varric. "Look!" He points to the rift, where more demons--smaller, but still able to stab you in the back, so to speak--are coming through.

Varric says something that sounds like a curse, and so does Solas.

Shisui just drops another fireball right on those smaller demons, and yeah. They're nothing to his  _ goukakkyuu no jutsu _ .

He’s almost glad that the big demon means nobody can stare at him for long, because they sure want to.

“Hey, Solas.” Shisui wiggles his left hand again, and gets a nod. This time, he calls out something to Cassandra as Shisui disrupts the rift—says something to Varric too—and they’re both ready when the demon drops to its knees: Solas hits it with his hyoton jutsu, and Cassandra pours her chakra into the shield bash.

Shisui is expecting something from Varric, but it’s not an exploding quarrel from his crossbow, perfectly timed with Shisui’s raiton-wire-nails technique. The other archers do the same, and as soon as the lightning dies down Cassandra strikes with a great kiai, and—

That does it, the demon goes the way all the other have, just... bigger. And when no more seem to be coming from the rift, Shisui reaches for it again, and starts pulling it shut.

And pulling.

And  _ pulling. _

It pulls back. It eats at his chakra for every ‘stitch’ he puts in the ‘tear’, as if he’s repairing something much, much bigger.

The rift is connected to the Breach far above, he knows, and he  _ knows _ that that has to be what’s draining his chakra like this, when he barely noticed any drain at all from other rifts.

It’s almost enough to make him stop; Shisui knows he doesn’t have enough chakra to close the Breach. It takes conscious effort to keep going, and even  _ more _ effort to keep the Breach from draining his chakra dry, but the rift closes, its connection with the thing in Shisui's snapping shut so hard his vision goes grey, and.

He feels cool hands catching him.

Varric's voice-- Cassandra's voice--

A great shockwave rolls through his body seconds before it rolls greenly across the sky, and despite his best efforts, Shisui loses consciousness.

  
  



	2. A is for Apostate, B is for Breach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Breach has been closed, for now, but what remains is a greater enemy still: The _language barrier!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once again to Tyger. <3 There is a lot of language-based bullshit in this chapter, which is, in fact, my idea of fun.

Shisui wakes. That, as far as he is concerned, is the most important thing. He's not dead, and judging by the nakedness of his wrists, he's not imprisoned again, either.

The slightly lumpy mattress and pile of warm blankets _also_ points to 'not imprisoned', but he remembers to keep an open mind. T&I tactics can and have been stranger. The cabin--furnished and cozy--is evidence against _that_ , so Shisui sits up.

Someone has dressed him in something that's both clean, and appallingly beige, but he can feel senbon in the seams of the sleeves like an apology, and the rest of his gear cleaned and laid out for him on a table at the foot of the bed. Against the wall, across from the bed is a bookshelf, and a pile of sacks. Beside the bed is a barrel serving as a second table, an unlit candle sitting atop it, and...

Actually, he realises, there are quite a lot barrels, not to mention crates and jars, pushed to the sides and it looks like someone made an effort to turn what was being used as a storehouse into a cozy little living space for him. He sniffs the air deliberately, and detects just a hint of the omnipresent mustiness characteristic of long-term storage.

A fireplace with a well-tended fire, several wall sconces, and a pair of unglazed windows standing open to the cold air outside let some light in, and chase that mustiness out.

The door opens, and the only reason Shisui doesn't throw a shuriken right into the poor girl who walks in is the state of the fire, and the knowledge that someone has been tending it, and probably him, the whole time.

She still yelps at the sight of him, and starts babbling in the language here; he recognises maybe five words she says, and two of those are Cassandra. And then she scurries off before he can try to figure out how to say anything back to her.

Shisui sighs, and shuts the door, going back to the table to inventory his gear.

There is not a lot of it: Six kunai, four shuriken, a spool and a half of ninja wire. Two smoke tags, twenty exploding tags, one dose of generalised antidote. His tiny emergency sewing kit, whetstone, vial of oil.

It doesn’t look like much, he has to admit. Luckily, he’s an Uchiha, and a jounin of Konohagakure, and he is more resourceful than that. In his pouch was also a storage scroll, and it, too, is laid out on the table, and after some inspection, evidently untampered with.

Smart, that, or lucky, because his scroll is naturally trapped.

Shisui has to move to the floor to have enough room to unroll it, and there’s still not enough to do the whole thing. That’s just fine though, since most of what he wants is up front: another double-handful of kunai, the same of shuriken, two more spools of ninja wire.

Clothes, two changes, and a cloak; it’s _cold_ . His spare sandals, harness, and tanto. After some thought, he also takes out a pair of ANBU-style kote. There were a couple of times yesterday (he hopes yesterday) when it would have been nice to have the _option_ of blocking instead of dodging.

Everything else, Shisui leaves in the scroll, and he rolls it back up, and tucks it away in his pouch. He’s halfway through storing the rest of what goes in his tool pouch when a knock comes at his door.

“Who is it?” he calls, knowing they won’t understand his words, but hoping they _will_ understand his intent.

"Cassandra!" returns the familiar voice. Shisui doesn’t hear anyone else out there, but he’d be an idiot if he didn’t bring at least one kunai to answer the door, so he brings two.

“Good morning, Cassandra,” he says, when he opens the door, and nods her into the little house.

“Shisui,” she says, and a word he thinks is “ _Wait_ ,” so he stops, and looks at her. Wordlessly, she gestures for him to follow her, but he shakes his head.

“Just another minute,” he says, and leaves the door open for her to follow, or not. He keeps a piece of his attention on her while he finishes sorting his gear, and getting changed. He has his own clothes; he’s not staying in that beige, mobility-restricting monstrosity a moment more than he has to.

Cassandra turns her back as he changes without him needing to ask, which is polite of her, and tells him something about the local manners and modesty standards. Not much, but more information is better than less, and he’s essentially in a blind infiltration mission here. Idly, he assigns it an S+ rank, and writes himself an IOU for hazardous back-pay, too.

He’ll never get it, but the idea that he _might_ is a nice fantasy.

He deliberately makes noise as he crosses the room, and taps Cassandra's shoulder. She turns, just a little too fast, and Shisui has no shame in falling back half a step as she does. She says something that sounds like a reflexive apology, and he waves it off, before gesturing her to lead the way.

She does, and for the second time in presumably two days, Shisui is following her through a small, snow-covered mountain town. He's in better shape to appreciate it this time, without the blatant hostility. There are people of all shapes and sizes around, and people from all walks of life, moving about the town. He can hear music, faintly, from one of the bigger buildings; a gathering place of some sort, maybe a restaurant or a bar.

He can also appreciate that the town seems to be half refugee camp: tents fill what must have been parks, stacks of crates and barrels abound, and the mix of people includes several distinct clans and ethnicities, and a variety of clothes, as well, including people with blankets and makeshift cloaks bundled over lightweight garments of varying sorts.

Shisui files it all away as Cassandra leads him up a flight of stairs, past a fire where Varric sits, writing in a notebook—he waves, and Varric nods, and calls a greeting—and on, past people working, and talking, and in a few cases, he thinks, reciting poetry or religious scripture to nobody in particular.

Cassandra gets a couple salutes, a quick report, and they both receive more than one bow. Which is interesting, since Shisui was getting killing looks only hopefully-yesterday.

"Funny how all you have to do to get a bit of respect around here to avert some mysterious catastrophe," he mutters to himself, flexing his left hand around the faint ache that still lives in it. It's a deep ache, still, burned into his chakra in an unsettling and unwelcome way, and he is going to give Solas no rest until the man fixes it.

Not that the man in question is anywhere to be seen along the route that Cassandra leads him up the stairs and into the big building that she calls 'chantry' when he manages to ask, and looks like an overblown manor to Shisui.

He hides his trepidation, and shapes his chakra for a shunshin as Cassandra leads him into the building. To his relief, they go right by the dungeon without even slowing, all the way to the big doors at the back, which open to reveal a somewhat ad-hoc war room: bookshelves, a desk, and a large dining table covered in maps and markers serving as a war table. The maps are interesting, in that nothing looks familiar. Shit.

"Sorry," Cassandra says. Or he thinks she says. It sounds like a 'sorry', or something like it, even if the words are different than the ones he learned from Solas. And then she continues, "Shisui, _[something something; words he doesn't know]_ Leliana; _[more words]_ Cullen-" she gestures to the tall blond man in armour, with the bearing of a heavy swordsman "- _[a new word, and the same words as before; an introductory phrase?]_ Josephine, our _[he thinks; and then another word, sounds like a noun]_."

"Pleased to meet you," Shisui says, giving them a slight bow without lowering his eyes. He gathers his thoughts for another round of pantomime and the occasional noun...

Which is when Angry Shouting Council Man shows up again. And starts blustering about, shouting at Cassandra mostly, and Leliana a little bit, and pointing at Shisui like an object. Well. If he wants to ignore the threat Shisui poses...

Leliana deliberately catches his eye, and making the tiniest of negating gestures, not even a shake of her head. Shisui acknowledges her by very briefly flicking his eyes down, and returns the bulk of his attention to the argument.

Councilor Blowhard (yes, better name) thinks that he’s in charge, that much is clear. But he’s clearly a civilian, and whatever their organisation is, while it may have civilian involvement, it is not itself a civilian organisation. It’s perfectly clear to Shisui that Cassandra and Leliana share command, likely splitting overt and covert aspects.

It’s a good way of doing things, even if it does remind Shisui unfortunately of Sandaime-sama and Danzo. Neither woman strikes him as the type to order a genocide, though. Nobody he’s met here seems that way, yet, though it’s definitely something he’s on the lookout for.

Councilor Blowhard is still on his ranting, and Shisui really wishes he could justify giving the man a taste of KI; it would only be a little, and it would probably shut him up. He reminds himself he doesn’t know the local politics well enough to do something like that to a civilian, and, moreover, Blowhard is a _civilian_ , and no self-respecting jounin of Konoha should be hitting civilians with KI, no matter how annoying they are.

Cassandra looks about ready to kill him herself, but instead of doing that, she slams a heavy tome on the table, one with the same eye-and-sword crest as is on her armour. Shisui has no idea what she’s saying to Blowhard, but her tone is hard as steel: _’This is the way things are, and you cannot contradict them,’_ it says. Blowhard is unimpressed; Shisui glances at Leliana, but she doesn’t seem worried.

Blowhard's next words sound like a threat, though not, for once toward Shisui, but he does then leave. Finally.

“Is he always like that?” Shisui asks, thumbing back over his shoulder with an exaggeratedly perplexed expression. Leliana gives him a thoughtful look, before nodding and saying,

“Yes.”

Oh good, Shisui isn’t the only one working on picking up communication skills.

Of course that’s when his stomach has to remind him that he hasn’t eaten in... since... He frowns, unsure of just how long it’s been since he’s eaten anything. Since before he jumped off the waterfall, certainly, so at least two whole days, and... probably more, now that he thinks about it.

Cullen says something, words Shisui doesn’t really know, but his tone is both wry and kind, and has Cassandra nodding in agreement.

“Shisui,” she says, getting his attention.

" _Yes?_ '" he replies, using their word, and not his own. It gets a smile from all of them, although Leliana's is a there-and-gone gleam in the eyes, and Cassandra's is a bare twitch of the lips.

She says a word, miming eating, and then says it again, as a question: "Food?" Shisui nods emphatically, as his stomach growls for emphasis.

"Yes!" he says, again in their tongue. Cassandra nods, and gestures for him to follow.

He does, moving back through the long hall again, just behind her. He looks around again, taking in the different people, filing away snatches of conversation, and activating his sharingan in split seconds, to take in details for later review.

(What he will find, when he does meditate on those split-second memories, is a great many pointy-eared servants, white-robed people with funny hats carrying themselves with some authority, and entirely too many people regarding Shisui himself with rather more reverence than any one person ought to be due. Ugh.

Bags and crates of supplies--food and medical for the most part--stacked up and counted, armed and armoured men and women in a proportion to the civilians that is entirely too few to Shisui's eyes, and... There's something to them, an edge of not-quite-paranoia that Shisui himself is all-too-familiar with. He doesn't like it.)

Cassandra leads him to one of the big campfires, and explains, largely through pantomime, that this is where he can get food at no charge. She also points out a trail of chimney smoke rising from a building downhill from where they are, and says,

"Food," but rubs her fingers together in what appears to be a universal signal of 'needs money'. Okay, fine, he gets it. He has some ryou on him, but he doubts that, as unfamiliar as everything is around here, they'll accept his currency. Although maybe he can sell some as a curiosity... He puts that thought aside for later, and takes the bowl of stew and roll of bread that he's handed.

Cassandra gives Shisui a wave--which he returns--and heads back toward the chantry. Assuming that that means that he's be left to his own recognisance, Shisui inhales his food (he's had worse), and a second serving that he's not sure he should be taking, but doesn't turn down, and heads off into the town to learn the lay of the land.

His first stop is the building that Cassandra pointed out as having food for sale. A restaurant or something like it is what he assumes, but when he pokes his head in--sparing a grin and a wave for Varric, who has a seat and a beer--it has more in common with a roadside inn or tavern than the restaurants he's used to. He supposes that makes sense; this isn't a big town, and the mines they passed through the previous day were probably the source of the majority of the local income. That, and religious tourism. Shisui's never been a religious man himself, but he can recognise piety in others when he sees it, even if he doesn't speak the language.

He can also recognise piety directed _at himself_ when he sees it, and _that_ is creepy. Really fucking creepy. Potentially useful, mind, provided he can talk to them. But still creepy.

Carrying on downhill and right of where he was was the shack-cum-cottage he had been sleeping in, so he turned to the left, taking note of where an enterprising merchant has spread out a variety of goods between his wagon, and several tables. A number of people were browsing, and someone in a uniform marked with the now-familiar eye-and-sword was haggling furiously.

Almost idly, Shisui hops up on one of the dog-statues that seem ubiquitous to the town, and settles in to watch. And listen, but mainly watch, so that he can get more exposure to the language. He watches while Uniform loses a haggling session, walking away with an oilcloth bundle, and the next customer steps up to make a purchase; much better dressed--striped silk skirts, and a necklace with a large red gem, probably ruby--and much less frugal, she doesn't even bargain before handing over a gold coin, and taking a truly hideous statue with every evidence of pleasure.

Shisui considers it for as long as it takes him to cast a subtle genjutsu and create a _kage bunshin_ to send and relive the Tasteless Rich Lady of her pocket change. Sure, he could _not_ do that, but on the other hand, her wealth is apparent, and if she didn't want a shinobi relieving her of it, she wouldn't have been so haplessly rich.

The clone dispels itself once it stashes the money--coins only, no bills--under his pillow, and then Shisui hops down from the statue, and makes his way back to his cabin.

He wonders if he really did just nab her pocket change, or if they just don't use paper money here. It'd be just his luck; coins have so much more mass, it's harder to carry them in quantity in a storage scroll.

He sorts the money, keeping one of the six gold coins, and half the silver and copper, storing the rest away in his scroll. He takes a coinpurse from his scroll (indigo, with the uchiwa on it), and tips the money in, before tucking it away, and heading back out to see if the merchant has anything worth purchasing. Or if there are any more pockets with picking; there's _always_ a use for money.

There are several people ahead of him, when Shisui gets back to the merchant, but that's all right, it gives him more time to browse and observe.

The first thing that catches his eye of course are the weapons. Most of those displayed are... well, the sort he'd expect to see offered to civilians in a situation like this: usable with little training, and more effective than most would credit them to be. Maces, mauls, clubs and the like, of course, and a handful of knives of varying design and quality... he would rather stick with what he has, though. Kunai, shuriken, tanto, wire: he knows these things, and moreover, they're a piece of home. Made by Konoha weaponsmiths, or by Neko-baa and the ninneko, and... And he doesn't want to trade them in. Not for this kind of quality, anyway.

There's some basic clothing, but more important, the merchant has a couple bolts of _cloth_ stashed behind the table, and even better, one of them is indigo. A quick survey of the tables lets him spot matching thread; it'd be good to get some more, even though he thinks he has _enough_ in his stash...

By the time it's his turn, between the people ahead of him, and the watching he did earlier, he thinks he has a pretty good idea of the value of the coin in his purse, and the items for sale--even the cloth, since one of the people ahead of him had bought a length of the white cloth on display alongside the indigo.

"Hi," Shisui says, smiling at the man. He can tell his usual charm is working, because the merchant is relaxing the minute tension that had appeared in his shoulders the moment Shisui got in line.

"Hello," the merchant says slowly. "I'm Seggrit."

"I am Shisui," Shisui replies. And then the rest of the conversation has to be mostly pantomimed, beginning with Shisui tugging at his sleeve, and pointing to the bolt of indigo.

Seggrit obligingly unrolls a short length over his arm to demonstrate the drape. He also lets Shisui feel it—a soft wool, good for the local climate—before rolling it back up.

“How much?” Shisui asks, rubbing his fingers together, and tilting his head quizzically. The man holds out his own arm, and draws his finger down the length of it, from his shoulder to his wrist, and then holds up a finger—one length, yes, Shisui saw him measure it for the other customer—and then names a price, that, unless indigo is literally worth its weight in gold, is a gross overcharge.

“Nope.” Shisui counters with a gross underbid, and they’re off. The nice thing about merchants is, the don’t care who you are or where you’re from, as long as you have money. And Shisui has money; more than enough for the cloth. That’s not going to stop him from getting a bargain, and practicing his language skills while he’s at it.

He finally walks away down one gold coin and seventeen silver, and up one bolt of indigo wool and a few lengths of white, and every spool of indigo thread. Since something tells him not to open up his storage scroll out here—even civilians in a ninja village can overreact to that sometimes—so he just tucks the whole lot under his arm, and heads back to his cabin, again. The back and forth is getting to be a habit. Not one he intends to keep longer than he has to, but Shisui wants to keep the thick bolt of indigo wool safe; he knows Itachi would—

“Damn it,” he breathes. Pushes down the scrabbling, half-panicked sorrow, and reminds himself that Itachi is _strong_ , and he’s _smart_ , and he’s _loyal_. He has Shisui’s eye. With luck, he has a mangekyou of his own by now, maybe even more powerful than Shisui’s. He reminds himself that Itachi has Sasuke, has his parents, has Hound-taichou and

And

Shisui is all alone.

He closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. Lets it out.

The door is shut, he's in this cabin alone. All alone. He is _fine._

He is not fine, of course, he is--

There is a knock at the door, and Shisui takes another deep breath, and bottles all the--the _angst_ away, shutting it down tight, and putting his usual smile back on his face.

"I'm coming!" he calls, and takes three long strides to the door. On the other side is a pointy-eared man dressed in a less-elaborate version of Leliana's armoured robes; her people are well-trained, that much is evident. Shisui didn't even hear the man approach. He'll have to be more careful.

"Hello," the pointy-eared man says, and after a little exchange of pantomime, he hands Shisui a small stack of books. They're all very simple; primers for reading and writing. Which, great, but...

"You realised I have no idea what any of this says?" he asks, injecting as much facetiousness into his voice as he flips through one of the books--the simplest-looking.

The man tilts his head at Shisui like a crow, and in a flurry of hands, he finds himself shuffled back into his cabin, sat at his table, and being taught the local いろは by a soft-spoken man with dark reddish hair, who hasn't given Shisui his name. That doesn't take long, and the man with dark brown eyes and a mole under his right eye who still hasn't given his name is moving on to the picture book with people, animals, colours, and shapes.

The man drills him harder and faster until he has the whole damned stack memorised--without his sharingan even--and only then is he satisfied.

"Read more," the man says, tapping the stack. Shisui nods.

"Yes," he agrees. Can't hurt to hit it with the sharingan anyway.

Shisui leaves the books stacked by the bed when the still-nameless man with callused fingers and long knives sheathed against his back leaves the cabin.

(He _realises_ that not giving your name is standard procedure in black ops, but the guy could have given _a_ name, sheesh.)

A moment of consideration more, and then Shisui takes the chance to activate his sharingan, and start scanning through the books, filing it all away more completely than even the earlier drill had managed. He doesn't spend long on it, but the time he does spend is important to cement the vocabulary in his mind.

He has _question words_ now! And the nameless black ops man taught him to say 'How do you say?' and 'What is that?' and by the Sage he is going to _use them!_

The sun is getting low in the sky when Shisui pokes his head out again; he doesn't think it's been that long, so it must be late in the year. There’s still enough light that he can resume his exploration; he wanders back by the merchant’s tables again, before carrying on to the little cluster of cabins roughly opposite the one his is in.

This cluster has a _much_ better view than his does, and Solas is standing right there taking advantage of it, staring out over the valley in the late afternoon sun. Shisui can’t blame him; it’s a beautiful view, especially at this time of day, with the sun at a low angle making the snow glow golden.

“Solas!” he calls in greeting, hopping up beside the pointy-eared man—a clan or race (the book wasn’t specific) called _Elf_ , much as Varric’s was called _Dwarf_ —“You-er, _ano_ -“ he points to his eyes, and then out to the valley “-see? Good.”

Solas blinks, and then gives a slight smile. “ _View_ ,” he offers, echoing Shisui’s previous gesture. “A good view. I-“ he points to himself “- _have_ -“ a holding gesture “-a good view.” And then he bends, and picks up a stone, holding it up, and saying, “ _Stone._ I _have_ a _stone_.”

He tosses the stone towards Shisui, who catches it easily, and says,

“ _You_ have a stone. _It_ is _your_ stone.” Solas turns to face the valley again, and adds, “It _is my_ view.”

It clicks in Shisui’s head then, and makes him grin; pronouns! A new verb! Grammar and syntax! Learning a new language is exhausting.

“Your view is good,” Shisui says, constructing the sentence based on the provided examples, like he’s a six-year-old in the Academy again, practicing how to pass as a civilian for stealth missions. One of the few things usually harder for the clan kids than the civilian kids, for obvious reasons.

Who knew that he was _actually_ practicing for an afterlife in a strange world where nobody spoke a decent language, and there were no shinobi, and he was all by himself with no Itachi, no clan, no village—

He shuts his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Lets it out slowly. Opens his eyes to see Solas giving him a concerned look.

“Good?” he asks. Shisui shrugs, and smiles.

"Yes. No?" Another shrug, and he waggles his hand back and forth. And then he shrugs again, because really, he does _not_ have the vocabulary to express what he's feeling right now. He's not sure that he has the vocabulary to express what he's feeling right now in his _own_ language, actually, and he has a pretty decent one, he likes to think. He's always had to keep on his toes to stay just ahead of Itachi's after all.

“ _Maybe_ ,” Solas offers, and if Shisui had a guess at the meaning, ‘maybe’ was at the top of the list.

“Hey _Chuckles!_ Shisui.” Varric’s voice isn’t a surprise; his gait on the snow is distinctively light, deliberate in a way that speaks of training, and it’s one that Shisui got used to during the mad scramble to the _rift._

“ _Master_ Tethras,” Solas replies, as Varric comes up the stairs.

“Is _Adan_ in?” the short man— _dwarf_ Shisui reminds himself—asks.

“No, he-“ The rest of Solas’ words don’t entirely make sense, though he gets the gist: a man named Adan, who Varric is looking for, is out, looking for... something. _’Notes’_ , whatever that is.

“ _Damn. If_ you see him, _tell_ him I’m looking for him,” Varric says. His next words aren’t something Shisui can make out yet, but they do get Solas’ interest, and so taking a moment to parse the unfamiliar noun, he says,

“Excuse me, _what is ‘elfroot?’?_ ”

“It’s an _herb_ ,” Varric says. “A _plant_ , here—“ He pulls out a bit of vine with a heart-shaped leaf attached. “Here you go, _take_ a look.” He offers it, and Shisui notes that his bare fingers touch the plant with no ill effect. The plant is a bright green and smooth, with no purple veins or tiny hairs that might suggest poison, so he takes it carefully, and brings it closer for inspection.

There is a strong astringent smell—medicinal—coming from the broken stem, and _oh_ . Yes of _course_ ; it matches the faint smell that he catches from time to time here in this cluster of houses. This Adan must be a medic of some sort, and it seems as if Varric has located a medicinal plant for him.

“Thank you,” Shisui says, and Varric grins at him.

“You’re welcome, _kid_. I’ll come back later. Let Adan know I was looking for him,” he says again, and gives a wave as he leaves.

“‘Kid’?” Shisui asks Solas, when Varric has wandered off.

“Ah, an _affectionate diminutive_ ,” Solas says. Shisui mouths the unfamiliar words, and wishes he had a pair of goggles, or even sunglasses to hide behind. It would make learning this language _so much easier_ if he could just use his sharingan. It is so, _so_ tempting, but he can’t—won’t—give in. He'll just have to rely on his own prodigious intellect, talent, skill, and dedication. Easy-peasy.

“Hm. Well. This one may be difficult—“

It is. Shisui has to distract himself with manual dexterity exercises in order to keep his focus on Solas’ explanation, and he picks up another double-handful of words for his vocabulary along the way. He has to resist the urge to puff his cheeks out in annoyance; he’s not a _kid_ , except maybe to experienced jounin and clan heads and the Council and the Hokage.

Okay and civilians who don’t know any better, but Varric Thethras does not strike Shisui as a _civilian_ . He _plays_ civilian very well, that much is clear, but he doesn’t move like it, doesn’t _feel_ like it in the tightly self-contained coil of his chakra. He and Leliana have that same almost-shinobi air about them, but while she wears hers on her shoulder, drawing attention away from the other shadows, Varric shrugs it off and hides in plain sight.

_Solas_ is something else all together, and all things considered, Shisui doesn’t exactly _like_ him, but... he is affable enough, and actually really great at explaining grammar and vocabulary. Shisui would gladly keep up the studying through the evening and into the night—his night-vision is plenty good even without his sharingan—but the man named Adan came back, and introduced himself.

As it turns out, he is, along with Solas, responsible for Shisui’s current state of not being dead. Again. Double-dead? Something like that. What the hell do you even call it in his case? Shisui tucks the thought away for later consideration, sometime when he isn’t in unknown territory surrounded by unknown peoples speaking a barely known language.

There is still the outside chance that he would wake up and find that it was all a dream.

He thanks the pair of them regardless. Adan’s acceptance is gruff and matter-of-fact; Solas just brushes it off in the way of the powerful displaying humility. False humility, but well-done.

“You should probably get dinner,” Solas says, once Adan has left them for his cabin.

“Not hunger,” Shisui lies. “More learning?”

“Hungry,” Solas corrects. “And while we might continue, you will learn better if you eat something.”

Well. That's true.

“Come, this will be an _excellent_ chance to practice your new language skills,” Solas points out, and even if he doesn’t know the adjective, Shisui can parse the meaning, and Solas is right.

“You will tell what I do not know?” Shisui asks. He finds that he's reluctant to leave the older man behind; he's the one responsible for the Breach, and for the mini-Breach in Shisui's hand, and he's also been an excellent source of vocabulary and general information, and...

He can't quite put his finger on it, but something about Solas makes Shisui not want to turn his back. Not let him out of his sight. There's something in his eyes, and something in his chakra, that makes Shisui think of eyes in the dark. A predator, and he is all too familiar with _those_ . He is one himself. If it weren't for the language barrier and the thing in his hand, he might even be having fun with it. Maybe he's having a bit of fun with it _anyway_ ; Shisui does enjoy learning new things. (His thoughts briefly go back to the raiton whip the giant demon had used. His hands itch to try it out.)

“Ah, of course,” Solas replies. “I would be happy to.” Shisui grins at him; of course he would. Solas is a man torn, Shisui can tell; on the one hand, he clearly wants to keep his distance from someone who saw right straight into what was apparently a big bad secret of his. On the other hand, he is clearly _very, very_ curious about Shisui himself, and dinner is prime information gathering time.

For them and everyone else too, since, as they walk to the tavern in plain sight of the town, looks and chatter soon become unsubtle following and—

“Solas,” Shisui asked. “What is _’Herald’_ and _’Andraste’_?”

Solas blinks at him, and Shisui catches a flicker of surprise and interest in his well-guarded gaze.

“You have never heard of Andraste?” he asks. “I mean _aside_ from here, in Haven?” Shisui shooks his head.

“She is a _religious_ —ah, temple? Faith, hm...” He trails off, a wrinkle appearing between his brows as he tries to figure out the best way to explain it with Shisui’s limited vocabulary.

“I know,” Shisui says. _Understand_ , he meant, but he hasn’t quite figured that word out yet. Or figured out how to get Solas to give it to him. He really needs a spot where he can sit for a while and watch people talking with his sharingan on, and a notebook.

Andraste, it seems, is some kind of goddess-made-flesh? Or something like that, connected to the god that most people around here—if Solas is to be believed—worship. The big building at the only reasonably defensible spot in town is apparently one of their temples, and all the people in the white uniforms are their priests. Or maybe monks? Shisui isn’t quite sure; clergy of some kind at any rate, which is mildly interesting, for a shinobi like him.

He has never had much to do with gods and temples, the Naka shrine and Uchiha clan legends notwithstanding; few people in Konoha did. What use do they have for distant gods when living ones walk among them? Oh, nobody forgot the spirits or their ancestors, but any awe and deep veneration tend to be reserved for the Hokage, and occasionally the other Founders; real people who had done real things, terrible, astounding things.

There are still people in the village old enough to remember when the Valley of the End wasn't a valley at all.

Shisui can do things too that are, objectively, terrible, and astounding, although he seldom thinks of them that way; people seldom do, about their own abilities. The strongest of a powerful clan (although he hopes, _knows_ that Itachi can and will become stronger, he has to), and not just for his mangekyou sharingan; he can do things that other people, even other Uchiha people, just. Cannot. It doesn’t make him a god, but power, and his familiarity with it, make him less inclined to beg distant, unknowable beings for distant, uncertain favours.

“You seem lost in thought,” Solas says, pausing for a moment outside the tavern.

“Andraste people are strange,” Shisui admits. “God and... god-people? Chantry people? I think they are strange.”

“Do you not have gods where you come from?” Solas asks, sounding genuinely interested.

“Not like here,” Shisui replies. He looks for the word, but he doesn’t have it yet, so he just uses his own: “ _Kami_ , and... the people who come before grandparents? Very before?”

“ _Ancestors_ ,” Solas offers, and Shisui thanks him with a nod. That right there is what he actually kind of likes about Solas.

“We give very respect to _kami_ and ancestors,” he explains. “Some _kami_ , and some ancestors, might be think like gods, but not like Andraste and Maker.”

Really, the idea of _one god_ —a male god at that—creating everything is a bit silly. Even the Sage had a brother. And he didn’t _create_ the world, it was already there. So were people. He just taught people about chakra, and gave them ninshu.

Shisui’s stomach growls, and it makes him laugh, reminds him why they were there outside the tavern in the first place.

“I will try explain later,” he says, and pushes the door open into a wave of heat, and the mingled smell of food and beer of some kind, and oiled metal and bodies yet unwashed from the grime of the day. A bit like the jounin ready station, but with less blood.

“Hey _Chuckles! Fluffy!_ ” calls a familiar voice. Shisui grins to see Varric waving from a corner table behind a tankard and a half-empty bowl. He takes the implicit invitation, and weaves expertly through the crowd, finally slouching into one of the chairs at Varric’s table, still unoccupied despite the crowd. Solas follows with slightly less grace. It looks intentional to his expert eye, but he doesn't so much as arch an eyebrow. Solas gives a quirk of his own anyway.

Solas' way, Shisui assumes, of letting him know that he isn't being as subtle as he thought.

"So, _Fluffy_ , how're the _language lessons_ going?" Varric asks.

"Talking learning," Solas clarifies without Shisui needing to ask.

"Ah, _lessons_ is the noun, I know it!" Shisui says.

"Not quite kid. 'Lesson'-" Varric holds up one finger "-'lessons'-" he holds up two, then three, then his whole hand "- _get_ it?"

"Is 'get' like 'know'?"

"Sometimes," Solas begins. "But that can wait; I believe this young lady is here to get our order." There is in fact a girl beside their table. She's maybe a year or two older than Shisui, with the pointed ears that mark her as part of the same 'elf' clan as Solas, though they don't look much alike besides that. It is more than just the difference between a civilian and someone decidedly _not_ , although that is definitely part of it. He can't immediately put a finger on it, and so he adds it to the mental folder of stuff to think about _later_.

"Is there a list of food and drink?" Shisui asks, when the girl turns to him.

"Like a-a _menu, sir?_ " she asks. ( _Menu_ , that must be the word he's looking for there.) She shakes her head. "Sorry sir, no sir, we don't have any, um, anything that _fancy_ here. Just the stew or the roast, or if you're cheap the bread and drippings. For drink we've got an, an _Orlesian_ red wine, local ale, winter wine, and some kind of _Antivan_ spirits, if you've got the coin. Oh! We also have a hot _mulled_ wine, if you're, if you're feeling cold, sir."

Shisui drums his fingers thoughtfully on the table, nods to himself, and says:

"I'll take the stew." It's what Varric is eating, and what Solas ordered, and what most of the people in the room are eating, and so probably less likely to be poisoned. "And, sorry, do you have tea?"

The girl blinks in surprise, and nods hesitantly.

"Ye-es, would you like a cup?"

"A pot, thanks." He grins at her, and she nods, darting off through the crowd. She hadn't written down a single word; not a bad memory.

"Do you plan on staying up all night?" Solas asks, a wrinkle of distaste forming between his brows.

"No," Shisui replies.

"Then why the tea?" Varric asks, leaning forward a little, his hands automatically moving to pull out a notebook and a pencil.

"I don't want water?" Isn't it obvious?

"I believe what Master Tethras is asking is why you chose tea over one of the other drinks," Solas puts in.

" _Oh_ -" yes he supposes it should be obvious, but maybe his competency in battle fooled them? "-my years are too small for wine-like drinks."

Shisui can see by the looks on their faces that he has momentarily baffled his dinner companions; whether it's his makeshift phrasing, or something else? Who knows. Not him.

"Chuckles? You've been with him all day, is he saying what I think he's saying?" Varric asks.

"'He' is right here," Shisui reminds him, more amused than offended.

"Shisui, are you saying that you are... too _young_ to drink _alcohol?_ " Solas asks, likewise amused as well as baffled. "How many years have you?"

"Ten plus five," Shisu says, shrugging.

Varric's pencil snaps.

Solas is very, _very_ still.

Under his breath, Varris says something that feels like a curse, and he digs another pencil out. He turns to a fresh page of his notebooks, and scratches out a triple handful of hash-marks before he turns the notebook to Shisui.

" _Fifteen_ . That many. That's how _old_ you are?" he asks, not even making an effort to hide his disbelief. Shisui nods.

"Yes. _Fifteen._ " Oh fuck him are they going to make a big deal about his age? Even by civilian standards he's at least old enough for an _apprenticeship_ or something, he thinks? And neither Varric nor Solas are civilians, or if they are they're the most uncivilian civilians he's ever met.

"Shit, _Fluffy_ , I thought you just had a baby-face. You really _are_ a kid. Fuck." Varric sits back, and drains his tankard, regarding Shisui with mild consternation.

"'Fluffy'?" Shisui asks, ignoring the matter of his age. His age doesn't matter.

Varric gestures above his own head, and then points at Shisui's.

"Yeah. Fluffy. Fifteen isn't actually too young to drink you know," he says.

"Where I am from, it is." Shisui shrugs again; it doesn't much matter to him, he supposes, but it's a good excuse to avoid inebriation, and... it really isn't good to drink when you're underage.

"I've never heard of anywhere like that," Varric says, plainly curious, and asking-not-asking for more information. Shisui grins again, wider this time; _try harder, shorty._

"Nor have I," Solas says. "Not even in my deepest ventures into the _Fade_."

"What is the _Fade?_ " Shisui asks.

"You mean Chuckles hasn't talked your ear off already?" Varric asks, as Solas _visibly_ \--to an Uchiha's eye anyway--brightens.

"The Fade is the _realm_ of _dreams_ ," he starts "And of _spirits_ . You are a _mage_ , Shisui, you should be _familiar_ with it, even if it is by another name."

"That is a lot of new words," Shisui says.

" _Dreams_ ," Varric says. "Are things you see when you sleep. _Spirits_ are demons--"

"Rather, the other way around," Solas interjects. Before either of them can continue, the waitress returns with their food and drinks. Shisui thanks her, and digs in like the growing boy he actually is. Solas and Varric both watch him with some amusement that he ignores in favour of hot stew. It tastes... beefy, but gamey at the same time. Some kind of wild cattle? He would have expected goat in the mountains, but he's not going to argue with it. Carrots, potato, something that's a bit like potato but less starchy... Plenty of salt, but otherwise under-seasoned to his taste; almost bland. Not as bland as what he ate earlier though.

The tea is oversteeped and astringent, but only a little bit, and it does the job of being a hot, and more importantly, _safe and clean_ , drink. Neither inebriation nor dysentery shall claim Uchiha Shisui!

Solas follows his example, and so does Varric, in finishing his meal at least.

"All right, Fluffy. I'll let _Chuckles_ here explain spirits and all that," Varris says. He pulls himself together, and rises from his seat. "I'll see you tomorrow kid."

"Sleep good," Shisui wishes him, having no doubt that sleep is not at _all_ where Varric is headed. It's okay. He won't pry yet. That's what a subtle genjutsu, a shadow clone, and his trademark speed are for. Nobody sees a thing, although Solas seems to have noticed _something_ ; a sensor of some degree, it seems. Good to know.

He makes note of it, and devotes some of his attention to keeping track of when and how Solas reacts to his use of chakra, and then turns his attention back to Solas.

"Fade, spirits, demons?" he asks, giving the other man one of his 'charming little shit' grins.

"Of course," Solas replies. "To begin with--"

This time, Solas produces a sketchbook--Shisui sees some frankly excellent drawings (local landscapes, and portrait thumbnails, scant detail still enough to make his subjects recognisable) as he flips to a clean page--to draw diagrams and little picture-scroll-like scenes as he explains... well. A lot. Enough that even Shisui has trouble following all of it, especially with the new vocabulary.

What he understands, in the end, is this:

The 'Fade' is a world of dreams, connected to, or divided from? The normal world. And spirits and demons--maybe the same thing?--also live there, but obviously sometimes come here. 'Demons,' as far as Shisui can tell, is just the word used to distinguish the aggressive ones from the benign ones.

"Yes," Solas says, when he manages to express this. "You are, in _essence_ , correct. Any spirit may be dangerous to the unwary, but they do not mean to be."

"No different from us," Shisui says. "Small, young people can be dangerous."

"Children," Solas says. "Singular, child."

"Thanks. Children can be dangerous. Anyone can be dangerous, wary or unwary." Shisui taps his chin thoughtfully. "Spirits sound like _kami_ , a little. Be respect, and you're fine."

"Respectful. The _kami_ that you mentioned earlier? How interesting! The idea of a religion based on respect for spirits sounds quite refreshing. Tell me--"

"Ah, wait, I'm not very religious you know? I have to think about it," Shisui interjects, before Solas can ask him anything uncomfortable. While not precisely true, he doesn't feel at all comfortable discussing Uchiha matters of faith with anyone outside the clan. Even thinking about it makes his brain go _nope_ , and he isn't anything like what you can call 'devout'.

"No? A shame," Solas replies, clearly disappointed.

"When I have more words, maybe I can tell you about something," Shisui offers. He'll have time to figure out what would be easiest to talk about. Safest. Something that the whole village celebrates, maybe some of the rites the monks perform in the Fire Temple.

"I look forward to it then. On that note, perhaps we should conclude for the evening; I would be happy to continue to aid you in acquiring the local language tomorrow if you like," Solas says.

"Yes," Shisui agrees. "I need to think. And I need to practice reading," he adds.

"Would you like me to compose a list of recommendations?" Solas asks. "I will base it on your current vocabulary, and what is perhaps the most urgent information for you to learn--local geography, recent history, and the like. Perhaps someone in Haven has a primer on how the people here tend to regard magic, as well. I think that that would be very helpful for you to know."

"Oh I'd definitely like that," Shisui agrees. Since 'magic' seems to be the local word for 'ninjutsu and genjutsu', if not chakra itself. "...actually anything about magic," he says. "I think people use it different here, to me."

"Differently. Yes, I suspect as much myself, and would definitely be interested in discussing the matter further. I will see what I can do," Solas says, before finally standing. Shisui finishes the last of his tea, and follows his example, and then follows him out; the waitress had returned for payment while they were talking about dreams.

"See you in the morning," Shisui says, and then takes off for his little cabin. Without really thinking about it, he sticks to the shadows, and avoids the few other people moving through the dark, including the quasi-shinobi who report to Leliana.

For the first time that day, the mini-Breach in Shisui's hand twinges, a crackle like a senbon to the common palmar nerves. It makes his fingers spasm briefly, and it makes him frown; if that happens in combat, it could be bad. A spasm like that could cause him to drop a kunai, or worse, a hand-sign. He needs to grill Solas about that, soon. Privately.

Nobody is waiting for him in his cabin, and there are no traps, so Shisui lights the lamp with a lick of katon chakra, and sits down to first check his hand--no visible changes to normal sight, and only minimal to the sharingan, which he takes note of--and then to check his gear, and catalogue all of his recent purchases. The bulk of his acquisitions go into the storage scroll, although he leaves the cloth and thread out. The bulk of his money does as well, with a decent handful of pocket change kept aside.

That's what he's tallying when his clone dispels itself, and his body and mind get the rush of returned chakra and information.

It's. Kind of sweet, really, how much Varric cares about how young he is. He'd be the first one; all his youth has ever gotten him before is praise for his genius and ability, and assassination missions where being small and cute makes it easier to shank someone in a kidney. But Cassandra and Leliana, and _especially_ Commander Cullen were bothered by it, and one or more of them will probably want to talk to him about it. Likely Leliana; their skill-sets overlap, and so she'll be most likely to have an idea of what kind of training he's done to gain the kind of ability that he has.

That _she_ has; she can walk in chain without a sound. He'll eat Hatake's dog treats if she hasn't, and that makes her more dangerous. Her and Varric. And Solas. He drums his fingers thoughtfully; his clone had watched them until they went to bed, before dispelling, so there's no getting ahead, and talking to them about it _now_ , when he's alert, and they're not, and he can't decide whether or not he wants to _let_ them make an issue of his age in the first place. He's been an adult member of society for nearly ten years now. _Ugh_.

That's a problem for future Shisui, he decides. It's not as if it'll be more than annoying.

Abruptly, he unseals a notebook and a pen from his storage scroll, and starts writing down everything he can remember since he woke in chains. He uses an old Uchiha code; only used for training anymore, but it'll be fine here, where nobody can even read _hiragana_ , much less old Sage-script. When he's done with that, he tucks it in his weapons pouch, snuffs the light, kicks off his boots, and falls into bed.

He _could_ stay up through the night, but if he doesn't have to, he shouldn't. 'Rest whenever you can' is one of the principles of being a ninja too, after all.

Falling asleep is just a matter of wanting to, with his mental discipline; Shisui only _looks like_ a casual guy, thanks.

He's hoping for a solid, dreamless night.

A solid, dreamless night is not what he gets.

It starts that way, but almost immediately, his subconscious becomes aware of something impinging on it, and discipline shifts his mind into something halfway between consciousness and lucid dreaming, with the familiar sensation of active sharingan, and the genjutsu maze he's set in his mind draws on his chakra for the first time since his last training with the Chief.

_Spirits_ is his first thought; Solas had mentioned that some of them--the aggressive sort called 'demons' for the most part--like to impinge upon the dreams of people, and even take control of them, somehow. Shisui likes to think that he wouldn't be any more susceptible to that than he is to any other mind-control techniques (the Yamanaka, for instance), but until he tests it, he has no way of knowing for sure.

With caution, he looks into the maze, and almost double-takes when he sees who has been caught in it.

_Solas._

Naturally, he disrupts his chakra to prevent the possibility of being ensnared in a genjutsu himself; it's probably unnecessary inside his own mind, with his sharingan active, but he takes the precaution anyway, and only proceeds when he is certain that it is, in fact, Solas who is trying to get into his mind.

" _Rude_. And here I actually kind of liked you." Shisui lets a vague sense of disappointment ripple through his maze, along with the flutter of dark wings that he shares with Itachi: their crows. Solas starts, looking around himself.

Mist is all he'll see, and the dirt path beneath his feet, illuminated by the diffuse light of the moon, gradually reddening as he moves deeper into the maze.

"Curious," Solas murmurs to himself. The maze carries him closer to Shisui's mental copy of the Naka, and when he hears the sound of rushing water, he turns toward it all on his own.

_Excellent._

For a moment, Shisui allows the mist to waver, shift in a non-existent breeze, and reveal the black silhouettes of trees, buildings, powerlines--before it all dissolves into the black wings and sharp cries of startled crows.

Solas covers his face reflexively as the birds scatter, taking the landscape with them, leaving the cliffs of the Valley of the End, and a perfect chance for Shisui to push Solas over them.

And right into the sense memories of T&I resistance training.

Solas flexes his chakra in an attempt to free himself from Shisui's snare, but he's too deep in for it to have any effect--if it could at all, given. Shisui is who he is, and he doesn't get the feeling that Solas is a genjutsu specialist.

He allows the sense memory to stop the moment Solas hits the water--ice cold, but not iced over, and full of the grasping hands of the dead.

They aren't Shisui's dead, and this is part of his maze that he's really proud of: they're _Solas'_ dead, drawn by the genjutsu from the depths of his mind and his own guilt, and it makes his eyes fly wide, makes him gasp in sudden horror--and inhale a double lungful of icy dream water, as Shisui stands atop the lake, and looks down at him, and down at--

Oh.

_Oh_.

Wow.

He.

This is usually the part that's somewhat useful, as far as intel goes, but.

Shisui isn't sure his mind can quite handle the. Thousands? _Millions?_ Of dead in Solas' grasping lake.

That is. A _lot_ . Really a lot. That's. _War_ . That's _Warring Clans Era_ kind of war. More. Worse. This is--

_Wait_.

No, it's not that--or not _just_ that. This is the dead of a _war leader_ , of a man who considers every kill of his subordinates to be his responsibility as well.

_Just who are you, Solas?_ He doesn't ask it, but he will. Later.

He feels Solas flex his chakra again, spend it on some jutsu that Shisui doesn't allow to happen; this is his mind, his dream. Solas is just an uninvited guest.

" _Rude_ ," he says again, and this time he allows Solas to hear it, lets the other man meet his eyes for a brief moment, before the hands drag him down.

It's cold down there, at the bottom, and the pressure is like being two-hundred metres deep: black and crushing, almost as deep as someone can dive without specialised suiton. Solas manages to stagger to his feet, which is actually pretty impressive; Shisui is tempted to increase the pressure, but refrains. He's too curious about what Solas does next. Whether he realises he's drowning in blood, and that the sand and sticks below his feet are the dust and fragments of bones.

The sharp viridian of Solas' chakra crackles visibly in his eyes as he looks around; he seems to have remembered that in a dream he doesn't actually need to breathe. Shame.

Solas moves through thick blood and bone as if he's moving through air, trips over a skull, and lands on a jagged volcanic shore, cursing and spilling more blood all over Shisui's mindscape. It fails to blend in with the rest, and Solas stops to stare again as it sits there, bright red, wet and glistening in the moonlight, where it should be nothing but black.

Once again, Solas moves his chakra, something more complicated this time, and again, when he releases it, it has no more effect than Shisui allows it to, which is to say: none.

"How...?" Solas mutters, his frustration evident. He looks around, clearly considering the jagged rocks around him, and the perfectly still lake of blood behind him, the rest of the valley obscured in moonlit mist once more.

He shakes his head.

Sighs.

And tries to wake up.

Shisui laughs to himself, and doesn't allow it.

"Leaving so soon?"

_("...soon... so soo.... n")_ whispers through the dreamscape maze, and Solas' head snaps up, eyes sharp--

"Shisui? Is that you? Where are you?" he calls, concern in his voice, a sudden resolve in his shoulders, and. Oh. Has he not realised that this is _Shisui's_ maze? He has to know that he's in Shisui's mind, right?

Shisui refrains from answering, and watches as Solas decides on a direction, and tumbles ass-over-teakettle through another flurry of black wings and raucous cries. If Solas happened to look up just then (he doesn't, pity), he would see a pair of eyes watching him, wide and red, with slowly spinning black tomoe.

This time, Shisui just lets him fall, freewheeling through flapping wings and indistinct imagery drawn from his own thoughts and fears. It incidentally allows Shisui a few glimpses of those same thoughts and fears--a swirling green sphere, jagged red crystals, a massive black wolf with six glowing eyes--but not more than that.

For a second time, Solas tries to wake up, and for a second time, Shisui denies him that option.

For the first time, Shisui sees a thrill of real, true, _fear_ in Solas' eyes, and so he allows him to land. Hard. On flat, smooth, black stone, the Uchiha mon etched and painted on it all but glowing, the only colour, the only feature, in the endless black of this little piece of Shisui's mind.

Shisui watches him impassively, curious, but also annoyed, and overall disappointed with him.

"Really Solas," he says, when the other man looks up, and foolishly meets his eyes. "How hard is it to _not_ go poking around in someone else's head uninvited?"

_I have made a terrible mistake_ Solas' eyes say for him, because he can't quite find his voice.

Shisui squats beside him, crossing the space between them even faster than he would in the waking world.

"I think we need to have a talk, Solas," he says. His tone is like conversational steel: mild, but brooking no argument. "We could have it right here, right now. It'd be really easy, super-convenient, don't even have to get out of bed!" Something passes through Solas' eyes; not quite fear, but denial, and he opens his mouth:

"If it is all the same to you, I would rather not," he says, his voice hoarse and rough, scratchy like he's been screaming, although he has barely uttered a word since he walked into Shisui's dreams.

It is, like so much else about him, actually _impressive;_ the last person caught like this hadn't been able to speak for a day, even in the _waking_ world; his genjutsu is more than powerful enough to affect the body as well as the mind after all.

"In that case," Shisui says, leaning closer, flexing his chakra. "It's time to _wake up_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You, there, coming from the DA side of things. I see your facepalm. Don't think I don't see it.


	3. Mistakes Have Been Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mistakes have been, are being, and will, in the future, be, made. Or: A new POV enters the ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Tyger. :3 
> 
> There's an old-fashioned Marvel-style No-Prize for spotting the biggest mistake.

**Chapter 3: Mistakes Have Been Made**

Solas wakes. And is terribly, painfully aware of just how lucky he is to do so.

His throat is on fire like he has been screaming; not as badly as it had been in the Fade, but the very fact that an injury has carried over to the waking world--more than one, he realises, as he becomes aware of the way his hands sting, and the ache in his lungs, and the heavy bruises, as if he had fallen a very great distance...

It is  _ chilling _ .

His own emotions are a tangle, and he has to fight them into some semblance of order: fear, concern, anger, consternation, confusion,  _ dread _ \--

He worries that it is too late for Shisui. He thinks about the figure with Shisui's face, and glowing red eyes, and he worries that his Anchor is embedded in a body not in the control of its own mind, but that of a spirit, one of Fear perhaps, or one of Guilt, of Regret...

No. Fear, if anything, or Confusion. Pride, perhaps, is a possibility, but the overwhelming experience in that piece of the Fade connected to Shisui's mind had been one of fear, and of pain, and of his own mistakes dragged out and shoved before his face like--

Abruptly, Solas realises that he is not alone.

Shisui is perched like a bird at the foot of his bed, eyes glowing red like a man possessed, spinning slowly in an otherwise blank face. No, he realises, not the solid glow of a spirit looking out through the eyes of a flesh-and-blood person; only his irises glow, and it is a faint one at that. What are more disturbing are the three dots that circle each pupil, small but distinct, and each with its own little tail, like a tadpole.

Every hair on Solas' body stands on end, and he cannot hold back the urge to shiver; a distinctly uncomfortable sensation that he has not experienced since elder days.

Shisui grins, bright and cheerful, exactly the way that he had earlier that day when he grasped some part of their impromptu language lesson, and it reminds Solas that for all his deadly effectiveness in battle, for all his sharp intellect, and what he suspects is a keen wit behind a language barrier... Shisui is a child. A boy. Probably nowhere near his full growth, or the peak of his abilities.

It is not a comforting thought.

Likewise discomforting is the way that the boy has not blinked, nor spoken a word. His grin doesn't waver, and he waits, silently, his slowly spinning gaze fixed on Solas.

This is a game that Solas knows well; one of patience, dominance, and intimidation. It is also one that he refuses to lose to a child, no matter how unsettling the child may be. How powerful, because he is that without a doubt. Solas cannot think of when he last met someone with such a natural facility with the Fade, and dreams; himself, perhaps. Shisui might be even better than  _ he _ is, or it may have just been a territorial advantage... Regardless, it is not a thing that Solas will be testing any time soon. No, not without consulting his friends in the Fade, and a great deal of preparation.

Shisui has still not blinked, and neither has Solas, but the boy's eyelids are drooping slightly, slipping, almost narrowing...

Solas blinks.

Shisui's eyes are as they ever were, and his grin is a hair wider.

_ Fenehdis. _ How had he done that? Solas had sensed nothing, no stirring of magic, no casting of a spell...

Solas' mind races as the boy's eyes spin, and--

His own eyes widen, and he averts them quickly, only to see the familiar walls of the cabin stretching up to the sky like a cathedral--

He curses, blinks again, and the cabin is as it should be, and Shisui's eyes are shining with mirth. It takes an act of will to keep from meeting them again.

"What are you?" he finds himself asking.

" _ Shinobi _ ," the boy answers. Solas does not know what that means, but it seems nothing but ominous. "Human," he adds, and Solas has the oddest feeling like Shisui is somehow taking pity on him. "Male,  _ jounin _ , teenager, legal adult, oh! Big fan of my aunt's cooking!" He smacks a fist into the palm of his hand, still grinning, still not blinking.

Solas' eye is drawn to the movement, and Shisui is suddenly perched on his  _ chest _ , all the weight of being at the bottom of the lake in Shisui's dream pressing down on him, and for a second, he  _ knows _ , with all the certainty in his soul, that he is going to  _ die _ .

"Also? Wondering just what the hell you thought you were doing. You know. Barging into someone else's mind like that is  _ rude _ . If I weren't nice, you'd be dead. Or worse." Shisui tilts his head like one of Leliana's birds, and Solas catches a glimpse of his irises again, those tadpoles swimming faster for a split second. His words are, by contrast, cheerful--and surprisingly fluent.

Solas does not doubt for one second that Shisui is telling the truth; his lingering injuries are proof of that. If he had his true power, it would be a different story, of course, but the bulk of it remains locked within his Orb, which is still in the hands of Corypheus. And in Shisui's hand; he can feel it, hovering so close, and yet, completely out of reach.

"I was concerned," Solas says, finally. "About your ignorance with regards to matters of the Fade. Checking on the state of your mind was a precaution for our sakes, and yours."

"You could have asked," Shisui points out. "Or knocked."

"Your 'door' to continue the metaphor, was wide open."

"Yeah, to catch people rude enough to come looking without an invitation." Shisui tilts his head the other way, just a little. "Don't do it again. I’d hate to have to kill you before I get answers about the mini-Breach, but I will.”

Solas believes him.

“And if I... ‘knock’?” he asks anyway, curious.

“Then maybe we can talk,” Shisui says, cheerful like a carrion crow over a fresh kill. It’s less disturbing than the overwhelming aura of killing intent the boy had projected before.

Solas still can’t figure out how Shisui is suddenly fluent enough to be using colloquial turns of phrase—no. No, that’s lying to himself; he can follow the threads of logic back to the moment he himself entered Shisui’s dreams, and in doing so, exposed his own mind to the boy. It is, at least, a hypothesis.

What he does know, what he is  _ certain _ of, is that whatever a  _ shinobi _ is, it is nothing he has ever encountered before, awake or dreaming.

Shisui is gone from his chest then, swift as a thought, a Fade-step so smooth and natural that Solas barely feels the displacement of air.

“Glad we had this talk,” he says with a cheeky grin. “Sleep tight.”

And then he’s gone, without waiting for a reply.

Solas lets out a breath. Calms his elevated pulse. Relaxes back into sleep, resolved to find some answers—obliquely.

——

Morning comes, bringing the sun and reluctant wakefulness, and no more answers than Solas had had when he returned to sleep the previous night. Though not unexpected, the lack of information is frustrating; he has taken the first steps to finding things out, however, giving the word  _ shinobi _ to several of Fen’Harel’s agents, along with a handful of the other words he recalled Shisui speaking in his own tongue.

The look of his weapons as well, his small throwing knives and the stars as well. And the symbols he wears, the one like a spiralling leaf on his forehead, and the red-and-white paddle, or fan, or... whatever it might be. Hopefully, answers would come to him sooner rather than later. Because there is, he thinks, something about Shisui that is... he is reluctant to put words to it, as the shape of it is not clear, but it makes him think of days long ago, and not in any fond, nostalgic way.

Solas will be glad when he can speak with Wisdom again; his friend’s insight into this matter will be invaluable.

He goes through his morning routine with no outward changes—wash his face, don his cleanest clothes, perform a short moving meditation in the open space beside his cottage. It is good for the people here to  _ see _ that he takes measures to keep his power under control, and so he does these little, otherwise unnecessary things. Today it also happens to give him more time to consider the various problems presented by Shisui.

The first, and of course most important, was that the boy had his Anchor, and it could not be removed. Even taking his arm, or killing him would not guarantee removal or transfer, otherwise Solas would have done that while he was unconscious, and left these shadows behind. He has no solution to that problem, as yet, and he is uncertain of where exactly to begin to find one, outside of retrieving his Orb.

The second, is Shisui’s possible possession status. Solas does not  _ think _ that he is possessed, but he is not yet certain of it, and while it remains a possibility, it remains a problem. Tonight, he will ask any nearby, friendly spirits if he is or not, and that will solve that. A far simpler matter than the first, and it will also help determine just what, if anything, he needs to do about some of the other problems presented by the boy.

The third problem is Shisui's sudden linguistic fluency. It is a much more personal problem for Solas than the others, considering the likely source of it... He will also have to find some way to deflect the perceptions of others away from thoughts of demons and abominations, particularly those of the Seeker and Commander Cullen; Leliana he suspects, will be a little more pragmatic about matters, at least until the Breach is permanently sealed.

Which leads him to his fourth problem. Intel gathered by his agents indicates that Shisui was not present at the Temple of Sacred Ashes when Corypheus made his attempt. He did, however, come out of a Fade Rift, and therefore the Fade. It is where he came from  _ prior _ to that, and how he got  _ into _ the Fade in the first place that troubles Solas, because it is beyond anything he knows.

His language, his clothes, the way he moves, fights, uses his magic... None of it is anything he has ever seen, in all his years, waking or dreaming, and that... he cannot help but feel as if that boy has, for the first time in a very long time, kindled some spark of wonder in him.

It is a dangerous thought, and one he can ill afford, but it is there, and he cannot deny it.

(Perhaps this is what these shadows mean when they speak of youth being the future.)

There are several more problems he needs to consider—not the least of which is just how to go about permanently sealing the Breach without his Orb—but those are the most significant this morning.

“One thing at a time,” he reminds himself quietly, before stepping out into the morning sun.

He is not the first person awake and about; he gets a nod from one of Cullen’s men heading for the catapults, and a wave from one of the quartermaster’s people. He acknowledges them in kind, and continues on his way, heading across town to where Shisui has been placed. He is, he supposes, curious.

“Hey Chuckles, are you going to check on the kid too?” Varric asks, falling in beside him. His face is a reasonable facsimile of cheer, but Solas can see the signs of concern under it; he wonders if Varric would feel the same if he had any idea what lurked under Shisui’s smile.

“Mm,” Solas agrees. “I would be remiss if I did not.”

“You shoulda been there when I told the Seeker that the kid is an  _ actual _ kid,” Varric replies. “Nightingale talked her down, but she seemed like she was almost ready to put him with the rest of the mage kids—fancy hand or not.”

“That would have been a terrible idea,” Solas says at once.

“Yeah, I agree—but why do you think so?” Varric cocks a curious brow at him.

“Despite his age, and youthful demeanor, I believe that Shisui is functionally an adult,” Solas replies. “And we are all aware of just how formidable he is in battle—and how likewise formidable his control is. It would be a mistake to treat him as a child. Young, yes, but a child? No. No.”

Varric makes a complicated face at that, but he nods.

“Street kids are like that sometimes. Growing up too damned fast for all the wrong reasons. But he’s not a street kid.”

“I agree. But I cannot place him otherwise.”

“Yeah, me neither; kinda funny, isn’t it?”

“In a sense, yes. Quite the mystery, isn’t he? Speaking of,” Solas continues. “Has Sister Nightingale had anything to say about him?”

“Not to me,” Varric replies. “But nobody talks to  _ me. _ ”

That, everyone knows, is a blatant lie; everyone talks to Varric, if only in the hopes of finding some representation of themselves in his next book. It is those who refrain from such things who are the exception, rather than the rule. Though he is ambivalent about it, Solas fully accepts that the price he may well yet pay for the information he gains from his conversations with the dwarf is the appearance of a threadbare elven apostate in some future novel or another.

“Certainly not; it is well-known that you are a reclusive, anti-social individual who abhors gossip.” His words make Varric laugh, as intended.

“And don’t you forget it, Chuckles. Hey, there’s Fluffy now,” Varric adds, pointing to the indigo-clad shape meandering vaguely in their direction. His nose is in a book, and Solas can just see his eyes moving rapidly across the pages, even as he weaves deftly through people. Yesterday, Solas would have called him adequately literate—for a child. Today, he is as competent in this as he was in his speech during his nighttime visit, and Solas isn’t the only one to notice; he sees Varric’s eyebrow tick up at the sight.

“Hey, is it just me...?”

Solas shakes his head.

“No, it seems our Herald is indeed a fast learner,” he replies.

“You buy all that Herald of Andraste stuff?” Varric asks. “ _ You? _ ”

“Whether or not I do is completely immaterial,” Solas says. “They-“ he nods to the people moving out of Shisui’s way, bowing, murmuring “-do. And it gives them hope.” Varric doesn’t have a chance to answer aloud, though the turn of his lips and the narrowing of his eyes speak volumes.

“Hey! Varric, you’re just the guy I wanted to see!” Shisui says, approaching them. “See, I had a few questions—“ He shuts his book, and holds it up, revealing the cover:  _ The Tale of the Champion. _

Solas finds himself smiling faintly; at Varric’s face, at the twinkle in Shisui’s eyes. Charcoal grey again, and bright with nothing but teasing mirth.

“It came highly recommended,” Shisui continues. “And I’ve been taking notes, but then I thought to myself, ‘Shisui, instead of slogging through a poorly-organised collection of secondary sources, why not interrogate the  _ primary _ source? Since he’s right here and all.’ I was trying to finish it before finding you, but I guess I wasn’t fast enough.” He almost looks embarrassed at that.

“Weren’t fast—kid, yesterday you could barely read ‘A is for Apostate’, I think you’re doing just fine. Let’s go get breakfast, and I’ll answer some questions for you—if you answer some for me.” There’s a familiar sharp look in Varric’s eyes, and he grins at Shisui. The boy returns his grin, bright and cheerful, and it feels completely honest; in the bright winter sun, with a child’s bright smile, the red-eyed being of shadows from the depths of the night feels very far away.

That, he suspects, is the entire point. He wears a similar mask himself: the mild-mannered elven apostate, the bright cheerful child. The Dread Wolf, and...? Something with crows, surely, given the perching, and the endless black wings in his dreamscape.

“Deal!” Shisui says, laughing. He stows the book in the pouch at his waist. “Are you gonna join us, Solas?” His grin is a challenge.

“I suppose,” Solas replies, taking it up. “I haven’t eaten yet.”

“And you hate gossip just as much as I do, right Chuckles?” Varric elbows him lightly, grinning up at him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Master Tethras,” Solas says.

“Sure you don’t, Chuckles, sure you don’t. Come on you two.”

Varric leads the way to Flissa’s tavern, and Solas and Shisui both follow.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Shisui says, as they round the turn in the path. “Call this question zero: is it true that everyone here puts their personal name first, and their family or clan name second?”

“Is that not the case where you come from?” Solas asks in return.

“Nope! It’s completely the other way around,” Shisui replies. He raises his hands as he does, one finger on each raised, and he moves them one to the other side.

“So I’d be ‘Tethras Varric’?” The dwarf makes a face as he considers it. “Sounds kind of weird.”

“I feel the same way about ‘Shisui Uchiha’,” Shisui replies with a careless shrug. “But since I’m here, I guess I’ll have to get used to it.”

_ Uchiha. _ The name is another piece of the puzzle for Solas, and he’ll be sure to pass it on to his agents tonight. An almost unnoticeable flutter of movement draws his attention to one of Leliana’s agents as they pass by; off, no doubt, to update their mistress on this new piece of information.

“So it would be ‘Uchiha Shisui’ then?” Solas asks. “I must confess, I cannot say that I have ever heard a name like yours before.” Not quite, at any rate. He kept the thrill of new knowledge down, again, barely; he allowed  _ some _ to shine through though, the better to maintain his mask of scholarly, humble apostate.

“Not even in the Fade?” Shisui asks. At Varric’s arched eyebrow, he adds, “I spent most of the night reading. Why do you think my vocabulary’s so good now?”

“From reading.” Varric’s skepticism is mild, but evident.

“Well, sure?” For once, Shisui sounds... hesitant. “I can’t think of a better reason, can you?”

_ Ah. _ Solas understands. This, then, is something of a test for the explanation for his fluency that Shisui has decided upon: if someone as worldly as Varric finds it plausible, then it may well serve.

The dwarf in question eyes the boy thoughtfully, and, as they reach the tavern door, he shrugs.

“I’ll let you know if I do, Fluffy.”

Shisui gives Varric one of his cheerful grins, and then leads the way in.

A wave of warmth and sound washes out from the tavern as Shisui opens the door, and Solas is tempted to change his mind about joining the breakfast-slash-mutual interrogation session; the crowd is noisy and unappealing, and he can almost sense Shisui having similar thoughts.

“Let’s get food and sit somewhere else,” the boy proposes.

“I concur,” Solas says, without reservation.

“Yeah,” Varric agrees after a moment to look over the crowd. “A bit loud in here for a conversation right now, isn’t it? How about we set up at my usual spot?”

“What’s wrong with the roof?” Shisui asks, as if sitting on the roof were a perfectly reasonable, every-day option when faced with a crowded dining establishment.

_ Perhaps for him, it is, _ Solas thinks, recalling his easy mobility.

“You’re kidding, right?” Varric asks. “Height, sloped roof, cold wind, need I go on?”

“I guess the cold bothers me less than most people,” Shisui says. Varric half-laughs, and glances briefly at the boy’s shoes—sandals, leaving his feet almost as exposed as elven footwraps—and says,

“I’ll say.”

“Perhaps a compromise,” Solas offers. “I presume, Shisui, you would prefer a good view and a modicum of privacy?” He waits for a nod, and continues: “Then perhaps on the ramparts, near one of the catapults. I am certain no-one will stop us from lighting a fire for your comfort Master Tethras.”

“That sounds great,” Shisui says. “Let’s split up: you guys get breakfast, I’ll get wood and build the fire. I’ll meet you there!”

He slips around both of them, and out the door on the lightest feet Solas has never heard.

“I guess the kid’s decided for us,” Varric says, and he really does laugh this time, before pushing his way through the crowd to the bar. Solas follows in his wake, and remembers to order tea for Shisui, along with the hot, spiced wine he and Varric choose. It’s a weak drink, but he has the feeling that Shisui would object regardless.

To no surprise, by the time they meet him, Shisui has built the next best thing to a bonfire out near the catapults; the heat is pleasant, although it has also ensured that they have somewhat less privacy than Solas thinks Shisui originally wanted. Perhaps that matters less to him than he thought though, given the animated conversation he is having with one of Cullen’s men.

“—plenty of pitch to be had here! Fireballs of any kind are  _ way _ better than just rocks! Explosives’re even better than that, obviously—hey! Solas, Varric! Anyway, nice chat-“ he clasps the man on his armoured shoulder “-think about it, okay?”

He strides over, confident, with a bounce in his step that far better suits his age than the catlike tread he has used before.

“We don’t really have use for siege weaponry where I come from,” he says, gesturing for Solas and Varric to follow him. “Talking about it with someone who actually uses it is really cool! I still think that they should just coat  _ all _ the rocks in pitch instead of only some, since we’re surrounded by pine, but what do I know?”

He sits easily on one of the flat, square cushions set around the fire, and gestures for them to join him. Solas does, and notes that covered in a sturdy cloth, clean, but patched and frequently mended, and the colours are a mix of browns and greys of the sort that might be faded blues. He wonders where Shisui found them; he has not seen the like here in Haven, at least. Under his fingers, the cloth is heavy, tightly-woven, and once, very fine. His eyes drift to the broad-collared shirt Shisui wears, and then flick up to meet his eyes, getting a grin for his trouble.

_ Ah. _ So, somehow, he had brought them himself. Likely with the rest of his mysteriously-appearing inventory, though Solas would  _ dearly _ like to know the ‘how’ of that, as well.

“Not bad, Fluffy,” Varric says, as he settles on his own cushion. “Not bad at all. Let’s eat.”

Breakfast is sausage rolls, some with cheese and some without, along with tea and hot spiced wine—heavily watered of course, this time of day. He would prefer not to drink with breakfast, but a little lightheadedness is far preferable to tea, and he neither trusts the water here, nor can he afford to be seen using his magic frivolously—as the ignorant and foolish would no doubt see it—to purify it.

Not that he expects himself to be vulnerable to any plague or parasite that might present itself, but... he is as yet not what he once was, and if taking the precaution is foolish, well, he is the only one to know himself for a fool.

“All right so  _ first of all _ ,” Shisui says, once he has inhaled three of the sausage rolls, and half the rough clay jar of tea. “Varric. My friend. If your  _ other _ friend, Hawke, is anything like she is in your book? I want to meet her.” The boy grins, and Varric pales.

“Uh, huh, sure Fluffy. Sure. That can happen. Sometime. You know, the Seeker wants to meet Hawke too, and I’ll tell you what I told her, and that’s that I have no idea where Hawke is, or what she’s doing right now,” Varric says. “You probably didn’t realise it, but I was half a prisoner too when we met; Seeker kept trying to get me to spill, but I can’t tell what I don’t know, get it?”

Shisui listens, with his head tilted slightly in a manner reminiscent of a cat, or perhaps a crow, his wide eyes slightly narrowed. When Varric finishes, he nods.

“I get it,” he agrees. “Just so you know, I don’t have any ulterior motives; I just think she sounds neat.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. So now—“ Shisui interrupts Varric by raising a finger.

“Hang on. Seeker? Who’s that?”

“That would be Cassandra,” Solas interjects. “She is one of the Seekers of Truth, a militant arm of the Andrastean Chantry, one both older and nobler, I dare say, than the Templars.”

Shisui jots something down in the notebook that he has produced from—somewhere, although given the size of it (small), in this case Solas would wager that it is a matter of sleight-of-hand rather than any of his unknown magic.

“Taking notes?” Varric asks, smiling a little.

“Things to look up for later,” Shisui replies. “Especially if I can find a less biased library.”

“Good luck with  _ that _ ,” the dwarf snorts, shaking his head. “Anyway, I was wondering, what’s the symbol on your shirt? A fan? A mushroom?”

The boy laughs.

“You were right the first time! It’s a fan! It’s the symbol...? Sigil? Uh,  _ crest _ I think might be the right word,” he mutters to himself a little. “Or maybe  _ seal? _ Yeah, I think that’s right. The  _ seal _ of my clan.”

“That’d be ‘Uchiha’, right?” Varric asks, sparing Solas the need to.

“Right,” Shisui agrees. Runs a hand through his hair. Sighs. There is a barely perceptible line of tension in him that Solas suspects he is  _ allowing _ them to see.

“What’s bothering you, Fluffy?” There’s real concern in Varric’s voice, because he has yet to be treated to the red-eyed being of dark wings and nightmares.

“Neither of you have ever heard it before today, have you,” Shisui states, rather than asks.

“I cannot say that I have,” Solas admits with a shake of his head.

“Me neither,” Varric agrees. “Should we have?”

“If we were anywhere remotely near where I come from? Yeah, you should have.” The boy grimaces, and drinks his tea. “I didn’t introduce myself with my clan name because I wanted to be judged by my own merits, rather than my clan’s.” He reaches for the last sausage roll, and neither Solas nor Varric stop him.

“The price of fame, or rather, famous relatives,” Varric suggests. Shisui just shrugs.

“Yeah, one or two. Nobody you’d have heard of,” he says. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Varric agrees. “Mind sharing one or two, just in case?”

Shisui frowns, and his eyes go distant as he considers it. Solas wonders what calculus he is using to determine his answer.

“I guess it can’t hurt,” the boy says finally. “Madara. Uchiha Madara is probably the most famous member of my clan. He’s dead now, but he’s still famous. His legacy towers over all of us.” Shisui’s lips twitch slightly, as if laughing at some joke he’s made to himself; there is, Solas presumes, a monument to this  _ Madara _ in his homeland then, possibly quite a large one at that, given his phrasing.

“You were right, Fluffy, I’ve never heard of him,” Varric says. “You might drop the name to Nightingale or Ruffles—“

“Sister Leliana or Lady Josephine,” Solas interjects.

“—right, yeah, they might’ve heard of him, or your clan. Seeker, too.”

“They have a lot on their plates right now.” Shisui pours himself some more tea, turning the cup in circles in his hands, making the liquid shiver.

“They won’t mind. It'd even make them happy, I think, to have something to look for. I don’t think you fully understand just how much of a buzz you’ve been making, Shisui.” Varric points to the boy with his pencil, overtop his notebook.

“I  _ know _ I don’t!” Shisui laughs. “I’ve only just got the language enough to have a chat! I don’t even know—well, a lot?” He scratches his head sheepishly, sips his tea, warms it with such a deft piece of magic that  _ Solas _ almost misses it, and sips it again.

“Speaking of, it’s my turn: what the hell do people here have against mages?”

“Hooooo, you don’t ask the easy questions, do you Fluffy?” Varric runs a hand through his hair, and then again back over it, smoothing it back into place.

“Indeed not; the entire history of human civilisation could be described by that one question,” Solas agrees.

“That just makes no sense to me,” the boy admits, and Solas feels some sympathy for him, for the genuine frustration in his voice.

“I don’t know if I’m the right guy to ask,” Varric says. “Dwarves can’t even  _ be _ mages, for one.”

That, Solas knows, is not the only reason he is trying to deflect the question, and he is likewise sure that Shisui won’t be put off by it; for all that he apparently has yet to reach the end of  _ The Tale of The Champion _ , he surely cannot miss the roots of the current conflicts that lie in it.

Indeed, Shisui blinks, and blinks again, a little furrow forming between his brows as he looks at Varric.

“Why not?” Shisui asks. It is not at all the question Solas expected him to ask.

“Come again?” Varric seems as taken aback as Solas feels, though he hides it well, letting only a hint into his voice and posture.

“Why can’t dwarves be mages?” Shisui asks.

“Because a mage must be connected to the Fade, and dwarves are not connected to the Fade, to put it simply,” Solas says. “Do you not have any dwarves in your homeland?”

“Of course we do! Not nearly as many as here, but—“

“Dwarves aren’t just short humans, Shisui,” Varric interjects. “If you didn’t know that, you probably don’t have real dwarves.”

For the first time since he has met the boy, Shisui looks genuinely perplexed. He sets down his now empty cup, frowning, and looking back and forth between Varric and Solas, his dark eyes all but unreadable.

“I honestly thought you were a clan. It wouldn’t be unusual where I come from,” he adds, to Varric’s skeptical look. “People come in all shapes and sizes! And sometimes colours! Being short and stocky isn’t any big thing as far as a clan ‘look’ goes.”

“I dunno what to tell you Fluffy. I’m not a healer or anything, but the differences are there, and they’re big enough to matter: dwarves, elves, humans, qunari... we’re all different species. Although,” Varric adds after a moment, “Humans and elves are close enough to have kids together, and I’m no expert, but I think that means the difference is smaller?”

“In some respects, yes,” Solas allows. Reluctantly, though he tries not to show it; the idea of conflating his people, through however distant a body as that of modern elves, with the humans who have hounded, battered, and enslaved them is repugnant at best. “In others, no; the details are far more complex than might be discussed in a fireside conversation, and—“

“‘Scuse me!” A high, bright voice interrupts them: a young elf woman in a scout’s uniform. “Seeker Cassandra and Sister Leliana would like to speak with the Lord Herald-“

“-Shisui-“

“-Lord Herald Shisui-“ the boy sighs “-at his earliest convenience.”

“Which means ‘now’,” Shisui says, with an exaggerated eyeroll.

“Well...” the scout hedges, and finally nods sheepishly when Shisui arches an eyebrow at her.

“Ehh... not like there’s anything better to do right now I guess. Go tell them I’ll be there soon, nee-chan.” He gives her one of his bright, charming smiles, and she gives him a salute, before darting off back in the direction of the Chantry.

“Guess that means we’ll have to do Q & A Round Two sometime later,” Shisui says. He pulls a small scroll from somewhere on his person—his sleight-of-hand is skillful enough that Solas cannot determine where, which is impressive—and unrolls it, revealing, from what Solas can see, a series of sigils and symbols, arranged in careful patterns and arrays—like runes, or inscribed spells.

Shisui presses his fingers to the centre of one of the arrays, and with a puff of smoke, pulls a  _ book _ out of the scroll.

“Andraste’s  _ tits _ ,” Varric breathes, at the same time as Solas gasps,

“ _ Fenedhis! _ ”

Shisui pauses in the process of rolling the scroll back up to look at them again. Something like flat disbelief sits blatantly on his face for a moment, before he finishes rolling the scroll, and stowing it away.

“Here,” he says, offering Varric the book. Solas cannot read the writing on the front, though it looks similar to that on the scroll.

“This is what we call a bingo book—kind of a who’s who of badasses,” Shisui explains. “I don’t think you can read it, but the photos should give you an idea of what I’m used to as far as human variety goes. Please make sure the cushions get back to my cabin when you’re done, and the book too; it kind of has sentimental value.”

“Hey, wait,” Varric starts, even as he takes the book. Shisui just grins at him, and vanishes in a soft breath of wind, fresh green leaves left swirling behind him.

“Damn it,” Varric mutters. “The kid just pulls a book out of a piece of paper, and then takes off like—Did you catch what he did, Chuckles?”

“Just now? Something like a Fade Step; advanced, but not too unusual. The scroll on the other hand... I have never seen the like,” he admits, shaking his head. “And I am uncertain how it might be accomplished.”

It certainly explains where Shisui had produced all of his things—things not evidently part of his equipment when he arrived.

Varric opens the book, makes a curious noise, and then turns it around, and opens it again. Solas moves so that he can look over the dwarf’s shoulder, and Varric obligingly tips the book so that they both might see. It is a fascinating sight: the lettering is incomprensible, but... beautiful. Elaborate in a way that Solas has never seen in a human creation.

“It appears to be divided into sections,” Solas observes, pointing to the edges of the pages. They’re marked by staggered coloured blocks, each with a symbol marked for every page; Solas recognises none of them but the leaf-like spiral that Shisui wears on his forehead.

“Yeah.” Varric’s thumb runs along the edges, feathering them rapidly. “Their printing is  _ really _ sophisticated, Chuckles. Miles beyond ours; look at all the colours, look at the precision—my publisher would  _ kill _ for one of these presses, and I’m pretty sure Fluffy has no idea what that says about his homeland.”

“It says that much?” Solas does not know much about printing; it has never interested him to know beyond satisfying his curiosity of the basics, and he finds himself feeling a twinge of regret for that. Perhaps when this is all over, when he has undone his mistakes and corrected his errors, he might find time to learn more.

Or he can just listen to Varric right now.

“It really does. On the presses I’m familiar with, a single pass gets you a single colour, so for every colour, you have to go again. It increases the chances of an error, and it gets more expensive the more passes you make. You wouldn’t waste it on some mass-produced pulp novel—you couldn’t anyway, the paper can’t handle more than one,  _ maybe _ two passes,” the dwarf explains. “And this paper is just a step or two up from pulp.”

There are, Solas notes, at least a half-dozen colours on the page edges alone; the page they’re open to, shows a white-haired young man, with a headband like Shisui’s pulled down over one side of his face, and a black mask pulled up over to the lower half, leaving slightly less than one quarter of his face visible; he is dressed in green and black, and the detail is so realistic, so  _ lifelike _ that he might well spring out from the page. After Shisui’s earlier display with the scroll, it would not be a surprise.

“And a portrait of this detail would not likely withstand such a process, either.”

“Honestly, I didn’t know you  _ could _ print portraits like this—I didn’t know you could  _ paint _ them,” Varric admits. “A master printer would lose their shit over this.”

“Speaking as an artist, I am very impressed with the portraiture technique to begin with, never mind the printing,” Solas admits. He turns the page, revealing two more portraits, and the same combination of horizontal and vertical text present on the first. Two more young men, one with shoulder-length brown hair and a stick in his mouth, the other with a distinct facial scar, both dressed similarly to the first, though wearing blue under their green vests instead of black...

“Hm. Looks like a uniform,” Varric comments, paging a little further into the book. He stops on a dark-haired man with a square jaw and an otherwise narrow face, stern. He wears the same green vest as the others, but beneath that he has the same high-collared indigo shirt as Shisui, and present on his page is the same red-and-white symbol that the boy has told them is the symbol of his Uchiha clan.

The next twenty-odd pages are likewise marked with the Uchiha clan symbol—not that it’s necessary, with the men and women being almost uniformly dark-haired, dark-eyed, pale-skinned, and indigo-clad. It is harder to tell under their layers of loose clothing, but they seem to have a certain uniformity of build, as well.

“Kid said this was a ‘who’s who of badasses’, right?” Varric asks, as he turns to the last page with an Uchiha—this one Shisui himself, recognisable despite the younger, softer face that looks out from the page. It’s clear from the way the pages fall as Varric holds the book that this is the page most-oft turned to, held, and looked at—as any child might, with a great accomplishment.

“And sentimental, yes. Possibly for his own entry into the list,” Solas observes.

“Kids always want to be badass instead of being kids,” Varric agrees.

The next page holds a man as pale-skinned and dark-haired as Shisui and his Uchiha clan, but with eyes that are the undifferentiated white of the blind.

“Interesting, that in his land blindness doesn’t keep one from the exalted ranks of the ‘badass’,” Solas comments, before Varric turns the page, and reveals two more people with identical eyes. He sees Varric’s eyebrows rise at the same time as he feels his own.

“I don’t know, Chuckles, there might be something else going on here,” the dwarf says. There’s a symbol in common on these pages as well—a V-shape with an arc inside it, containing what looks like a stylised flame. Solas makes a note to himself to look back over the other pages for other clan markings; they surely must be present.

“I suspect you may be right.”

There are more of the arced-flame clan, a good dozen of them, before the book turns to a different clan. These people hide behind dark glasses and heavy clothes, showing less skin even than the white-haired young man from the beginning. There are four of them listed.

The next is a clan of people who can best be described as  _ vast _ : tall, broad, muscular, fat; thick-haired, thick-boned, and wearing heavy armour that would surely cush a lesser being.

“If this is what Shisui is used to being ‘human’ maybe mistaking dwarves for a clan of short, stocky humans isn’t really a surprise,” Varric allows, after staring for a while at one of the clan of the vast—one so large a small drawing of presumably a typically-sized human is included for scale.

“Indeed, it would be the same thing in the other direction,” Solas agrees.

The next page is a woman(?) who seems more beast than human, with a maw full of fangs in her smirk, and claws ready to gut the unwary. Three dogs—or maybe wolves—the size of ponies share the page with her.

“I find myself uncertain what to say,” Solas says.

“No shit, Chuckles?” Varric turns the page, revealing two more people with canine partners included. Neither look quite as fierce as the woman on the facing page, but there is still an enticingly primal energy about them that practically radiates off the page. The next several pages are of almost disarmingly ordinary-looking people, some with clan symbols, some with animals, some with distinctive weapons.

At the very end of the section is a large, fold-out piece, depicting three people: a short, pretty blonde woman, a tall man with a wild mane of white hair, and an individual with ink-black hair and chalk-white skin and slit-pupiled golden eyes to whom he hesitates to assign a  _ species _ much less a gender. The portraits are the same size as all the others; what takes up the entire fold-out is a depiction of three animals: a slug, a toad, and a snake, each one easily the size of a  _ palace _ , if the tiny humanoid figure sketched in on their heads is anything to go by.

“What the fuck.” It is a flat statement rather than a question, and Solas feels the sentiment down to his bones.

“Oooh, yeah, you got to the Sannin, don’t worry, that’s a normal reaction,” says Shisui, who is suddenly  _ there _ . Varric  _ jumps _ , cursing, and the only reason the book doesn’t go flying is that Shisui is there to deftly catch it.

“Hey! Careful with that!” the boy says. He folds the large sheet back into the book in a subtly different way than it had been before, one that allows the three people featured—the ‘Sannin’—to be paged through like any others.

“I meant it when I said it has sentimental value,” he says softly.

“Because you’re in it?” Varric guesses.

“That too, I mean,  _ yeah _ it’s my first bingo book entry, but my best friend gave me this copy,” Shisui replies. “It’s the only bingo book I have on me right now, or I would’ve given you another one.”

“I see. I apologise; we should have had more care,” Solas says. A gift from a best friend... important, yes, and even more so to a child. Particularly a best friend who is now in some far off place that is unknown to all those around him... Yes, he understands. All too well.

(He should have had more care for his  _ own _ best friend; none of them would be in this position if he had.)

“It’s fine. Nothing’s hurt, so... it’s fine.” Shisui takes a slow breath, and lets it out. “Anyway, the Sannin! They’re  _ really _ famous; if you haven’t heard of  _ them _ you haven’t heard of  _ anyone _ back home.”

“They got names?” Varric asks.

“Yeah.” Shisui nods. “Most people do.”

“I walked right into that one,” Varric says, half-laughing, to Shisui’s grinning face. “All right,  _ what are _ their names?”

“Jiraiya, Orochimaru, and Tsunade,” Shisui replies, pointing in turn to the white-haired man, the black-haired... person, and the blonde woman. “Senju Tsunade actually; she usually foregoes her clan name when they’re introduced as a group. They’re living legends.”

“And they’re all human, even this... Orochimaru?” Solas asks. There is something just...  _ uncanny _ about that person, even in a portrait; the artist captured that strangeness well, he thinks.

“Well, yeah? Why wouldn’t he be? I was trying to tell you that humans can look... well, really different, sometimes. Look—“ Shisui takes the book, and turns to a section marked in blue, with four wavey lines as its symbol.

The very first entry is a... being, with blue skin, black hair, and a maw full of razor-sharp teeth, like a shark’s. In fact, the man’s eyes are also like a shark’s, dark and round, and Solas is not sure, but he has what might be gills...?

“This guy’s human. Why wouldn’t Orochimaru be?”

Why not indeed. Whatever has prompted the people of Shisui’s land to broaden their definition of ‘human’, it is not a thing that Solas has seen, even in the remotest parts of the Fade. The day is still young, and already he finds himself eager for it to end, so that he might return to his dreams and perhaps find answers there. Or if not answers, then at least more questions.

Varric runs a hand through his hair, lets out a low whistle, and says, “Not it.”

“Huh?” Shisui says, as Solas himself says,

“Excuse me?”

“Not it. I’m not going to give Fluffy the darkspawn talk,” Varric says. Solas feels himself involuntarily wince.

“Ah. Yes. Perhaps we should leave that to Sister Leliana? She was part of the Warden’s party, who ended the last Blight was she not?” he asks.

“I—yeah. Yeah she was. Good idea. Hey, speaking of Nightingale, what did she want, Fluffy? You weren’t gone very long.”

“Apparently there’s a cleric who wants to meet me, in the Hinterlands,” Shisui offers. “Leliana’s already sent scouts, and Cassandra’s coming with, but I wanted to ask the two of you along as well.”

"Why us?" Solas asks, meaning  _ why me? _ After their confrontation in the night, Solas would have imagined himself to be the last person that Shisui would want along on a mission. And yet, for the most part, today he has been behaving no differently than he had before... Not that he has any reference for what the boy is like normally. Nothing is normal about the current times, not for any of them.

It would be exciting were it not so terrible.

It  _ is _ exciting, even though it is so terrible.

"My considerations are honestly largely tactical," Shisui says, his face sobering. "I already know something of what you two are capable of in combat--Cassandra as well. And I intend to learn more along our way there; Leliana says that there are at the very least two warring factions there already; I hope the scouts come through with better intel-- _ anyway _ , if you're coming, I want you there for the briefing."

"Sure, Fluffy," Varric says. "I'll come. Be nice to see something other than snow for a bit."

"While not quite the way I would put it, yes, I concur," Solas replies.

"Great!" Shisui grins, and produces his scroll again. "Pass me the cushions, then, I'll just pack all this up now." Varric and Solas both move, and hand over their cushions. Shisui unrolls the scroll to a particular place, stacks the cushions, and presses the tips of the first two fingers of each hand to the array of runes and letters beneath them. There is a surge of--something. Once again, too small and too fast for Solas to quite determine what it is he is doing, and the cushions vanish into the scroll. He does the same with his book, and then vanishes the scroll back wherever it is that he keeps it.

That done, he eyes the fire, shrugs, and gestures for them to follow him.

"I figure the folks out here will appreciate it," he says. Indeed, even as they move away, several of the soldiers working on the catapults move in to warm themselves.

"So, you said a cleric wants to meet you?" Varric asks.

"Mother Giselle," Shisui replies. "From the Chantry." He glances back over his shoulder as he says it.

"I've heard of her," Varric replies. "She's well-respected; if you can get her on our side, that might get the Chantry off our necks."

"Yeah, apparently some of them want to execute me, like that Roderick guy?" Shisui shrugs; it doesn't seem to bother him.

"I think all of Haven heard his shouting, yes," Solas agrees. "But I sincerely doubt that either the Seeker or Sister Leliana would allow that to happen, at this point."

"Cassandra doesn't take any shit," is what Shisui says, after a moment of consideration. Varric throws back his head, and laughs.

"I'll say," he agrees. "Just don't let her push you around, Fluffy."

"Don't worry, Varric. I won't." There's a gleam in Shisui's eyes that reminds Solas of that night; something that sends a little shiver up his spine, and makes the metaphorical wolf inside him prick its ears in alert. The look is there-and-gone, but Varric doesn't miss it either, and his lips twitch in something like a smile.

"Somehow Fluffy, that doesn't surprise me."

The briefing, when they reach the makeshift war-room, is, in a word, brief. There just is not much actionable intelligence from the Hinterlands as yet, and Sister Leliana says as much once she has passed on what she already knows.

"Until my scouts can establish a safe forward base, I am afraid that reports will be sparse at best," she explains. "My ravens know better than to risk taking an arrow until then." That catches Shisui's attention, his eyes bright and curious.

"Ravens? Do you use summons, or trained birds?" he asks.

"Trained birds of course. I am not certain what you mean by summons," she replies.

"It's," he starts, and stops, frowning. "You know, I'm not sure how to explain it. I'll let you know when I figure it out; I'm still not really fluent in this language, you know."

"I would hardly think so, after barely more than a day," Lady Josephine interjects. "I am very impressed with your progress so far, though; you have quite the natural facility with language. We should get you started on Orlesian, next."

"That's a very good idea, Josie," Sister Leliana agrees. "We can assemble texts for Shisui for his return. In the meantime, please use the journey to continue your study of the Fereldan tongue."

"Yes ma'am," the boy replies, giving her a cheeky grin. "I was already planning on it."

They break up then, scattering to perform their preparations; the party leaves at dawn, which leaves little time.

Solas has agreed to collect potions for the entire party, as his quarters are most closely adjacent to Adan's workshop; aside from that, he thankfully has few preparations to undertake himself, which leaves him plenty of time for checking dead-drops and leaving orders for his agents.

"I got the message from the Seeker," Adan says gruffly, when Solas walks through the open door of his workshop. "This is all I can spare-" he taps the pack "-twenty. That's five each, if you don't need to heal anyone else. I'm not a healer any more than you are, you know that."

"And yet, they keep pressing us into the role. Thank you for your hard work," Solas says.

"Thank me by finding a real healer out there," Adan says. "This Inquisition won't get anywhere with amateurs like us."

"Indeed not. I will keep my eyes open, and see if I can make it plain how much of a priority it ought to be."

"Bring that kid back alive, huh? Or all my hard work will go to waste."

"You can count on it." For all his gruffness, Adan is not a bad man. Solas leaves him, and heads for the blacksmith; the way the sound carries, he can hear Shisui down there, speaking with the man.

"Aye," Harrit is saying, as Solas approaches. "I can do that."

"Good," Shisui replies. "It's  _ very _ important that the weight and balance match  _ exactly. _ "

"Like matched throwing knives," Harrit says. He jumps a little when Shisui is suddenly holding a trio of the knives--shaped like a spearhead, roughly--between his fingers.

"Exactly like!" the boy says cheerfully. The knives vanish like they appeared, and Harrit laughs.

"All right, all right, I've equipped enough rogues to have your measure. I'll get my apprentices on these 'koonye' and I'll work on the 'shooreeken' myself."

"Thank you Master Harrit. I'll come pick them up before we leave in the morning." Shisui gives him a slight bow, and then turns, hopping lightly over the fence, and crossing the street to join Solas.

"Hey! Just the guy I was looking for! Are those the potions?" he asks.

"Yes," Solas replies, falling in beside him as he starts walking. "Adan had them all ready for us."

"He uses too much saltpeter in his bombs, but he seems like a good guy," Shisui replies.

"Pardon?" The non-sequitur takes him aback. Shisui taps his nose.

"I can smell it. Without going into the details, if you're making bombs, saltpeter is one of the ingredients; you need to get the ratios right if you want a good boom. That's all really fiddly though, so most people just use exploding tags where I come from," Shisui explains.

"And what is an exploding tag?" Solas asks. It is, he realises suddenly, very still around them, and very quiet. The bustle of Haven can just be heard in the distance, but even that slowly fades. Somehow, they have crossed a great distance without him even noticing. He considers Shisui's demonstrated speed, and his ability to warp perceptions, and his blood runs cold.

"Something I'm going to teach you how to use before we go," Shisui says. He is holding a slip of paper between his fingers; the edges are red, and the rest of it is filled with an array of runes and symbols not unlike those on Shisui's mysterious scroll.

"Why?" Solas asks. Shisui smiles. Solas is once more put in mind of a carrion crow. He almost expects the boy's eyes to change again, but they remain dark like charcoal, not a hint of crimson to be seen.

"Because," Shisui says. "I want to see if you can. And if you can, it'll be very useful in the field. Much easier than training in the use of explosives."

"And?" Solas prompts. There is an  _ and _ here, he can sense it.

"And nothing," he says. "Come here, I'm going to demonstrate."

In spite of himself, Solas' curiosity pushes him to do so.

"Exploding tags are made with  _ fuuinjutsu _ ," Shisui explains. "The... sealing arts, I guess it would translate to. The seal creates an explosion, and holds it in potentia until it is activated by the application of chakra. You only need a tiny amount to activate an exploding tag; touch the tag, and I'll demonstrate."

Solas does, and--

"Oh. I can-- yes, I can feel it, in the ink, like a rune, but more... ephemeral? More flexible--" There's a very faint surge of power, flowing from Shisui into the paper, and then the boy is pulling it away.

"Yeah, all that. I gave it a five-second timer--" He snaps the paper, flinging it like a knife, straight into the air, where it bursts with a substantial explosion. "See? Tiny amount of chakra, big boom. We'll talk about flexible use  _ later, _ " he adds, as Solas starts to ask about  _ timers _ .

"Very well," Solas agrees. Wordlessly, Shisui hands him an exploding tag; on a purely tactile level, it doesn't feel like anything but a piece of slightly heavy, high-quality paper. To his magical senses, it buzzes with a familiar energy, the 'explosion in potentia' that Shisui described being much more evident with the paper in his hand alone.

"Once you activate it, get it away from you quickly; the tag doesn't care who gets caught in its radius."

Solas nods, and thoughtfully feeds a very tiny bit of magic into the paper; to his surprise, he can feel it  _ catch _ , and he flings it quickly away, giving it an extra push with his power. In the next breath he covers them both with a barrier, and the tag explodes less than a second after that, leaving Shisui laughing in delight, as the heat washes over them.

"Right on the first try! That's  _ great! _ " Shisui's eyes are bright and young for once, lighting up his face. He offers Solas two sheafs of tags, one substantially thicker than the other.

"These are for practice," he says, waving the thicker stack. "I made them earlier. They make some smoke, and about as much fire as a match. So maybe don't play with them in a pit of dry tinder, but. These-" the shorter stack, four in all "-are the real deal. Don't mix them up. If you run out, let me know."

"...thank you, Shisui," Solas says, accepting both sheafs, and tucking them away after a quick inspection.

"Thank me by getting good," Shisui says.

The sounds of Haven start to come back, slowly, still distant, but  _ there _ . It is both a relief, and... not  _ entirely _ terrifying, but certainly a little bit frightening, the ease with which Shisui can manipulate perceptions.

"I've already told Varric and Cassandra, but come meet at my cabin for dinner, and logistics," Shisui says. "Varric will bring dinner, and Cassandra has promised to bring something to drink. I have some space in my scroll if there's anything bulky you want to bring along."

"I appreciate the offer, but I have few possessions I cannot easily carry with me," Solas says. "The life of a wanderer."

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense. All right. I’ll see you tonight!” And then with a wave, he is gone, once again leaving a swirl of leaves in his wake. Not, Solas thinks, so much intentionally, but rather as a part of whatever spell he is using. It suggests a use of nature energies, rather than the ice he uses to fuel his own Fade Step, and it leaves him curious.

He bends this time to take up one of the leaves. Fresh and green, despite the time of year, and not a species that grows in the area, nor even one that Solas  _ recognises _ . He slips it, along with two others, between the pages of his sketchbook, for later, before heading back toward Haven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...the biggest mistake might be me branching out into other POVs. OTL


	4. On The Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm so thrilled and delighted by all the comments and kudos and bookmarks and everything. I'm posting next week's chapter early because I just got news that my dad is dying, and I'm travelling to visit him (driving with people in my bubble) before he goes, and I wanted to make sure it was out for you so I didn't forget. 
> 
> Please call the people you care about and tell them you love them. 
> 
> (Thanks, as always, to Tyger.)

Varric wakes up, and it is just too damned early in the morning for his taste, which is to say, it’s  _ before dawn _ . Oh, the false-dawn is there, pale grey light on the eastern horizon, coming up over the mountains like a literary metaphor, but the real deal won’t be there for at least another couple of hours.

Yeah, he could have slept a bit longer; he could have taken Fluffy-stuff’s offer to wake him up. But the kid had a sense of humour, and a particularly wicked gleam in his eye when he had made the offer during ‘dinner and logistics’ (as if that was a perfectly normal thing). All in all, Varric is pretty sure that making  _ himself _ wake up is the lesser of two evils.

(It is kind of disappointing that neither Chuckles nor the Seeker had taken him up on it either; Varric is actually curious about what the kid would have done.)

Thanks to the logistics meeting last night, Varric actually gets himself together and is ready to go pretty quickly. He's feeling pretty good about things, until he looks outside and sees Fluffy perched on the pillar he'd specified the night before, waiting. Nobody else is there yet, which shouldn't matter, but...

The kid's staring at the moons like he's seen a damned ghost, and on top of that, he looks so lonely it makes  _ Varric _ hurt, so what else is he going to do but go out and join him. He uses his softest step, one that's gotten him past darkspawn and drunks alike, neatly avoiding the crunch of snow in favour of exposed stone, and the occasional piece of frozen mud.

"Hey Fluffy, having second thoughts about the early start?" he calls. To his mild disappointment, the kid doesn't even twitch; he's not  _ surprised _ , but it would have been a little funny, and given him something to tease Fluffy over. For all that he's definitely a mage though, Fluffy's also probably the best damned rogue Varric's ever met, and he would know. Wherever he's from that teaches mages rogue skills... His thoughts go briefly to the contents of the 'bingo book' Fluffy had shown them, to the page after page filled with faces like his--clanmates, family.

"About the early start? No. About everything that's happened since I woke up here? ...also no," Fluffy says. He hops down from the pillar, landing soundlessly on the snow, not even leaving a tiny indent in it. Varric wonders if Chuckles or the Seeker have any idea how hard that is, to walk that softly, without changing your gait, or speed. To leave no trace in your footsteps as you do?

Actually, Varric isn't sure how the kid does  _ that _ one; it must be some combination mage-rogue trick, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't jealous. He can be as quiet as any cat, but he still leaves footprints.

"Then what's eating you?" Varric asks. He thinks the kid needs someone to ask, and more importantly, he's  _ curious _ . Fluffy tilts his head like one of Nightingale's birds, looking at him without blinking. Varric doesn't think for a moment that the kid isn't perfectly aware of how unsettling it is when he does that; despite the disarming smiles, he's entirely too self-aware to be  _ un _ aware.

Fluffy tips his head back to look at the sky again, and sighs, before pointing up.

"The whole sky is different," he says. "I mean, I knew I was a long way from home, but this is  _ really _ ..." He shakes his head, and looks over to Varric again. "I'm even farther away than I thought. It complicates things, you know?"

"Yeah, kid, I get it," Varric says. "I can't speak for anyone else, but once we've got that mess in the sky taken care of, I can put out some feelers, and see if anyone knows how to get there from here." He's not entirely certain why he makes the offer, just... Fluffy's a  _ kid _ . A kid who misses his best friend, and probably his family, who's here through no fault of his own, no matter how deadly and skilled he is.

"Thanks Varric. I appreciate it."

The next one to join them is Chuckles, and only a short while after, the Seeker.

"I see we are all prepared to depart in a timely fashion. I am pleasantly surprised," she says, eyeing Varric. He resists the urge to roll his eyes at her.

"Hey, just because I'm young, doesn't mean I'm lazy. The early departure was my idea in the first place," Fluffy says.

"I did not mean to imply--"

"I figured." Fluffy flashes a grin. "All right, Cassandra, you know the way, so you're on point. Solas, Varric, you're in the middle. I'll take rear guard. We'll take the first leg easy, so I can get an idea of everyone's limits. Any questions?"

"Your formation sounds reasonable," the Seeker replies. "I have no questions at the moment."

"As the Seeker said," Chuckles agrees, leaning on his staff and inclining his head slightly toward her.

Come to think of it,  _ he _ isn't leaving any footprints in the snow either; maybe it's a mage thing? Or an elf thing? Fluffy's not an elf, but he could easily be elf-blooded, depending on how his clan's inheritance and membership work.

"Plenty," Varric says. "But nothing about the marching order."

"Then it has to wait," Fluffy says cheerfully. "We march until an hour after dawn, and then we'll stop for breakfast. Go."

The Seeker nods, and starts down toward the gate without any further delay. Varric loosens Bianca's straps, and falls in beside Chuckles, whose fingers have the familiar look of a mage readying a barrier. A glance over his shoulder shows Fluffy, strolling along just close enough to be within the barrier range, if it comes to that, but far enough to give himself a wide range of options. Speaking of options--

"Hey Fluffy, you remembered to pick up your stuff from Harrit, right?"

The question actually makes the kid stumble, and scuff the snow.

"Shit! No, I forgot! Thank you Varric! I'll meet you all at the gate!" He bows quickly, and vanishes with the now-familiar flurry of wind and leaves; Chuckles snatches one from the air, and turns it over in his hands.

“Curious,” he says, pulling out his sketchbook and tucking the leaf into it. “It is not the leaf of any tree that I have ever seen before, awake or in dreams.”

“His homeland is very distant,” the Seeker points out, still at the head of their formation. “Would it not be more surprising to find that the trees are the same?”

“Perhaps,” Chuckles allows thoughtfully.

“There’s an apprentice mage doing naturalist work back in the Chantry,” Varric says. “Mostly on things coming out of rifts, but maybe she might recognise it.”

“Her name is Minaeve, and I believe her work is somewhat broader in scope than that, Varric, but your notion is sound,” the Seeker says.

“In that case, when we return, please remind me,” Chuckles says. “Even if she does not know, I suppose it cannot hurt to try.”

“Or you could just try asking me,” Fluffy says, appearing out of  _ nowhere _ like he does. Varric manages not to jump this time, but his heart is racing. Seeker  _ does _ jump, a little; she clearly hasn’t been desensitised to Fluffy’s antics yet, but beside him, Chuckles doesn’t twitch.

“ _ Maker’s Breath _ Shisui! If you are not careful, one of us may injure you!” Seeker says, and Varric nods his agreement.

“Seeker’s got a point, Fluffy,” he says. The kid just shrugs.

“If your reflexes are good enough to hit me, then I deserve to get hit. Until they are, I’m not worried.”

“Your confidence is beginning to sound like reckless arrogance.” Seeker frowns over her shoulder, a flicker of worry in her eyes.

“Don’t worry, I promise you guys will be the first to know if I’m in danger,” Fluffy says. He’s still not worried, but he is concerned about the  _ Seeker’s _ worry, which is nice of him; a lot of kids, even really self-aware ones, don’t think about other people very much. Fluffy-stuff is the exception; he’s thinking about all of them all the time, in ways that go beyond the tactical.

It’s nothing that the Seeker will pick up without having it pointed out, she’s too straightforward, but Varric sees it, and Nightingale sees it, and he’ll eat Bianca if Chuckles doesn’t see it. The kid’s always  _ watching _ : their feet, their shoulders, their eyes. He’s watching the spaces between people, and listening to the things they say, and don’t say, and Varric can see him lining it all up, and putting it away somewhere, for some purpose, that he just hopes is benign.

Not that Fluffy strikes him as malevolent, but he’s been wrong about people before, and he’d really rather not be again, considering how things went the last time he had misjudged someone. Sure, that mess wasn't all on him--not at all on him, really, no matter how it  _ feels _ \--but he likes to think he's learned something from the clusterfuck of Kirkwall.

His fingers itch to write Hawke; she'd like Fluffy-stuff, he thinks. The fact that he's travelling with the Seeker gives him second thoughts, but if he can find an unaffiliated courier somewhere along the way, maybe he'll send one.

As the point, the Seeker sets the march for the first leg of their journey, and Varric can feel Fluffy's eyes on them--on him in particular, which he guesses he can't fault. But even though his legs are shorter, he has no trouble keeping up with the Seeker's pace, and he says as much when Fluffy comes up to talk to him and Chuckles a bit.

"Good," the kid replies. "I thought that might be the case. Cassandra told me she's commanded mixed forces before, which is half the reason I put her on point."

"You get many dwarves in the Seekers, Seeker?" Varric calls up to her.

"Not as such, but that hardly stops me from commanding dwarves," the Seeker replies. "Nor elves, for that matter."

"What about those other guys, uh, qunari?" Fluffy asks.

"I have not; few have, outside their own forces. Of any of us, I believe Varric would be the most qualified to tell you what they are like in person," Seeker says, looking over her shoulder, right directly at him. Fluffy gives him a glance, and he shrugs; the kid's read his book, he should know the basics anyway.

"We can table that discussion for now," Fluffy says, falling back to his rear-guard position. "Since we're not likely to run into any in the Hinterlands, right?"

"Right," the Seeker agrees. And then she sighs, “But the way things have been going, perhaps we had best prepare for the worst, just in case.”

“Hm.” They walk in a thinking silence for several minutes before Fluffy finally says, “When we stop tonight, you and Varric prepare me a brief on their tactics. Just an overview: we can save anything more in depth for later.”

“Can do,” Varric sighs in reply. Just what he didn’t want to think about.

“Of course,” Seeker says a moment later, glancing back over at him. She looks back again a moment later, hissing under her breath as the dawn finally breaks, brilliant and gold on the crisp white snow, making it glitter like fucking diamonds right into all their eyes, because this part of the road has them facing east.

“Hey, Cassandra?” Fluffy says, squinting off to the side.

“Yes, Shisui?” she replies, doing the same. It is, objectively, a funny sight, even if Varric is doing the same himself.

“You know the lay of the land here pretty well, right? So,” he continues, without waiting for an answer. “Is there any reason not to just cut across the wilderness to the south?”

“Wolves and bandits are both known to stalk the region,” the Seeker says. “And there was a landslide not long before the Conclave.”

“So, unstable terrain.”

“Precisely.”

“I think it’ll be less of a problem than the sun, for now though. We’re going to cut through. Change of formation though. I’m on point. Varric, you’re rear guard. Cassandra, with Solas. Everyone stay alert.”

The Seeker and Chuckles cooperate without protest; maybe they agree. Varric definitely does; the higher the sun climbs the worse it’s getting, and they don’t need to deal with snowblindness or anything. Fluffy’s idea to cut through this section of wilderness isn’t really  _ that _ risky, and it puts the sun to one side of them, and quickly enough behind a pine-covered ridge, filtering through to provide gentle illumination instead of the eye-searing glare.

The switch in formation is nice in that it allows Varric to compare Chuckles’ and Fluffy’s strides. They’re both definitely moving lightly, although now that they’re in deeper snow it looks like Chuckles  _ is _ leaving some kind of mark, while Fluffy still definitely isn’t. He wonders if the other two notice.

_ They probably do, right? That’s not the kind of thing you can miss when it’s right in front of your face like that. _

In the near distance, a wolf howls, and Fluffy stops, head cocked to one side, listening. A second wolf joins the first, and the Seeker loosens her blade and shield, ready to draw the former, and pull the latter around. A third and a fourth howl join the first two, and Varric follows her example. Chuckles still looks relaxed, staff at rest on his back, but that doesn’t mean much for a mage, and the elf’s gaze is fixed on Fluffy’s back.

“All right, it’s nothing to worry about,” Fluffy says after a minute. “They’re just talking.”

“They are wolves,” Seeker counters. “They do not... talk.”

“On the contrary,” Chuckles interjects. “Wolves are very intelligent, social creatures, and Shisui is correct that howls are often used for long-distance communication.”

“Exactly. It’s just call-and-response, not hunting,” Fluffy explains. “If we stick to the ridge, and follow at this vector-“ he points “-we should stay out of their territory, and rejoin the road once the sun is higher, and less likely to blind us.”

“Your observations are very astute,” Seeker observes.

“It helps that the terrain is similar to what I’m used to back home—forest and mountains,” Fluffy explains. “If we were in the middle of the desert, I’d probably be a bit lost.” He scratches his head sheepishly. “I’ve only been to a desert once, and only for long enough to realise that I kind of hate it.”

He starts walking again as he talks, following the path he indicated pretty perfectly. The rest of them fall in, and despite Fluffy’s reassurances, Varric keeps a hand on Bianca; maybe the wolves are a danger, maybe they aren’t, but Seeker said there are bandits out here too. And sure, bandits would have to be dumber than rocks to attack a party like theirs, but bandits tended to be dumber than rocks.

The wolves keep howling though, and it makes Varric’s hair stand on end.

“You sure they’re not giving each other directions to find a four-course breakfast?” he asks. Fluffy-stuff just laughs.

“I’m sure! And unless they’re starving or rabid, they’d probably leave us alone anyway,” he adds, not at all reassuringly.

“I don’t think Master Tethras found that at all reassuring,” Chuckles says, because  _ he _ gets it. The wandering apostate lifestyle probably involves a whole lot of avoiding hungry and hostile wildlife.

“Oh! Sorry, I thought the implication was obvious,” Fluffy says, glancing back over his shoulder. He does look genuinely contrite. “If they’re howling like that, they’re not rabid, and if they were starving, they already would have attacked.”

"That's still not very comforting, kid," Varric points out. Fluffy-stuff shrugs.

"I'm not very good at being comforting," he admits. "But I can tell you the truth, and that's that I'm completely unworried about the wolves. The bandits too," he adds, continuing, "Unless they're of a  _ much _ higher calibre than the ones I'm used to, anyway."

"I cannot speak for the bandits you are accustomed to," Seeker says. "But those in this region are typical examples of their kind: rag-tag and ill-equipped, with only the barest organisation."

"Anyone with a substantial bounty, or anything?" Fluffy looks back over his shoulder again.

"Not here, no," the Seeker replies. "But it is possible there may be something of the sort where we are going; I expect such information to be part of the briefing we will receive from Leliana's people."

"All right then, I won't bother with them. It's about time for breakfast, so keep an eye out for a good place to stop!"

_ Has it really been that much time already? _ Apparently it has; the pace has been easier than Varric expected, given how energetic Fluffy is.

It's not much longer before Chuckles spots a low tumble of stone that might once have been a wall, sometime so long ago that not even his dreams know what it might have been. Fluffy nudges the stone with a foot, and hums to himself.

"No fire. We won't be here long. If anyone wants a hot drink, I'll warm it up."

"I'll take you up on that," Varric says, handing his flask over, and before long, hot drinks and hot food are all on the metaphorical table, all without a fire anywhere but Fluffy's hands. It's certainly the most casually  _ convenient _ sort of magic-use Varric's ever seen.

“You have impressive control, over a volatile element,” Chuckles comments.  _ Huh. _ Maybe that’s all it is?

“Not really,” Fluffy replies. “My control is better than average-“ something shifts in his eyes that tells Varric he might be understating things; why? “-but fire comes naturally to me. I’ve been doing tricks like that since I was a kid.”

“You’re still a kid,” Varric feels compelled to point out. Fluffy-stuff rolls his eyes.

“An  _ actual _ kid, Varric, shorter than you and everything,” he says.

“A child as opposed to an adolescent,” the Seeker says.

“Yeah,” Fluffy laughs. “Something like that.” He doesn’t elaborate, for all that Chuckles is radiating curiosity. Varric’s curious too, but he likes to think he’s got it under better control.

When they’re done eating, Fluffy neatly incinerates the detritus, and hesitates a moment before wiggling his fingers and blowing the ash away with a small burst of wind. There’s a look of concetration on his face that hadn’t been there when he was playing with fire.

“Time to get back on the road,” he says. “I’ll take point until we get there. Afterwards, we’ll be rotating point and rear until I’ve had a chance to chat with everyone.”

“What about?” Varric asks, as they all fall into formation.

“I just want a better grasp of what you’re all capable of before we get in a real fight,” the kid explains. “That dash up the mountain gave me an idea, which is why I wanted you on my team in the first place, but the better I know what you can do, the less risk we’re all at, collectively.”

“And will we likewise learn something more of your capabilities?” Chuckles asks. Fluffy gives him a toothy grin, the kind with secrets in it.

“Maybe,” he teases. “Not that I’m anything special back home, but you all seem to divide people into ‘mages’ and ‘everyone else’, and never the twain shall meet. It’s different for us: everyone learns everything that they can, more or less.”

The pace he sets is a harder one that before, and it’s a bit much for Varric to ask what he wants to ask, so it’s nice when Seeker takes the bait.

“‘More or less’?” she asks. She doesn’t sound as breathless as Varric feels, which he charitably ascribes to her longer legs.

“Not everyone has the same talents, affinities, potential, or desire to reach that potential,” Fluffy says. He’s about as bothered by the pace as he would be a lazy spring walk. “Some people—and I know this might be shocking—are  _ civilians. _ By choice!” His honestly baffled tone makes Varric laugh in spite of his efforts to conserve breath.

“I think that  _ most _ people prefer a civilian life,” Seeker says. “Though much like you, Shisui, I do not entirely see why. Still, I find it surprising—mages are part of your normal forces?”

“Why not? There’s nothing about a  _ ninjutsu _ specialty that prevents you from learning  _ taijutsu _ , or  _ bukijutsu _ or anything else,” Fluffy replies. He wrinkles his nose a bit; it’s adorable, and another reminder that he is, in fact, a kid.

“Uh... throwing fireballs doesn’t make you incapable of throwing a punch or stabbing someone,” the kid says. “Or setting traps, or... anything else. It’s nothing  _ special _ , not any more than any other talent.”

“Do you not worry about possession?” Seeker asks. “If mages are part of your regular forces...”

“See, that’s the thing,” Fluffy says. “All of that... possession, demons, abominations...? That just doesn’t happen. Well,” he amends. “I guess it  _ can _ happen, I’ve definitely  _ heard _ of it, but everyone knows you just need to get a seal master, or maybe a professional exorcist, and they’ll take care of things.”

All three of them stumble to a halt, with Fluffy coming to a stop a moment later, and turning to face them, his head tilted like a bird again.

“I don’t see what’s so shocking about it?” he says. “It’s just looking after people. But... like I said, I’ve only ever heard about it. Like-“ he waves a hand “-in books, and old stories.”

“Why do you think that is?” Chuckles asks. Fluffy shrugs.

“There’s probably a reason, but it’s not important right now,” he says. “We need to keep moving.”

Without another word, he turns, and sets the pace again, leaving them no choice but to fall in or be left behind.

It’s not long until they reach the road again; less than an hour, by Varric’s estimation, but the sun is indeed no longer glaring off the snow quite so badly from its current position.

“Cassandra, swap,” Fluffy calls, as they set off down the road. “Varric, Solas, swap.” Their marching order thus rearranged, the kid continues, “We’ll keep going until we need to stop. Lunch will be a walking lunch. Half-speed for now Cassandra.”

“Aye,” the Seeker replies with a reflexive salute. Half-speed is still a good clip, but slow enough that Varric can talk, which is probably the point.

“So you’re probably wondering why I wanted to talk to you first,” Fluffy says.

“I won’t lie and deny it,” Varric replies.

“Well, it’s because you’re my favourite for rear guard.” Fluffy shrugs a bit, and nods to the front and back. “Aside from me, you’re the most versatile, and the most mobile; you can use traps in a melee and that’s one hell of a skill. Trapsetting is also vital if we have to do a running retreat.”

“Huh. You think like a rogue.” Fluffy’s not wrong; everything he’s said is true.

“A rogue?”

“Sneaks, thieves, trappers, assassins... You know, people like me,” Varric teases.

“Oh yeah! I probably do,” Fluffy agrees. “That’s pretty normal; even frontliners like Cassasndra need basic skills, you know?”

_ ‘Basic skills.’ _ Varric mouths to himself.

“I mean, I get that standards are different in different places, but it’s just weird to me,” the kid continues. “So! You’re my go-to guy for rear-guard, Varric. And I want you out of position for the minimum possible time.”

“I. Huh. Wasn’t really expecting that,” Varric admits. “All right, let me give you the rundown.”

Most of it is what Fluffy has already pointed out, but he includes it for the sake of completeness. There are also some other rogue skills like stealth, disabling strikes, poisons... Nothing surprises him, and a few things make him grin.

“And then there’s Bianca,” Varric says, patting his beloved crossbow. Fluffy’s eyes gleam with the genuine appreciation of an afficionado.

“You’re  _ really _ good with it-“

“-her-“

“-her,” Fluffy-stuff corrects without missing a beat. “I’ve never seen anyone so versatile with a crossbow before! It’s really great; you can even use her at point-blank range, and I  _ know _ that doesn’t usually work for... any kind of bow.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Varric agrees. He gives Bianca another affectionate pat. “Bianca’s one-of-a-kind.”

Fluffy’s grin widens, and Varric spends the next hour being thoroughly grilled on Bianca’s range, rate of fire—everything—and how it all fits in with the rest of Varric’s capabilities. He’s feeling a bit like the kid scraped his brain out by they’re finished, and Fluffy’s grinning like a cat in cream.

When they rotate, Varric’s back at the rear again, with Chuckles on point, and the Seeker getting her brain scraped. The way they’re spaced, he can about hear most of what they’re talking about. It’s pretty interesting, and Fluffy has some good suggestions; he’s just mentioned the possibility of the Seeker launching him from her shield when he flexes his left hand with a hiss, and Chuckles signals a halt.

“I sense a rift,” the elf calls back to them.

“Me too,” Fluffy agrees. Varric can actually see the green light crackling faintly in his palm again. “I’m going to scout. Varric, you’re with me. Solas, Cassandra, follow, but not closely. One of us will signal when it’s time for you to move in.”

“Let me give you a barrier before you go,” Chuckles offers. “It might fade before it is of use, but then, it might not.” Fluffy nods, and Chuckles casts it; to Varric, it always feels like nothing, right up until some attack that should have hit him, doesn’t. Which is good, since he’s covering Fluffy as they sneak up on a rift.

It’s a little way off the road, at the peak of a gentle hill. The terrain is easy, but there’s not much in the way of cover; luckily they’re both sneaky bastards, able to get right up on top of it.

Varric recognises the Rage demon circling the rift; the ‘walking pile of magma’ look is hard to mistake for anything else. The rest look like shades to him, maybe a half dozen, though it’s hard to keep count.

They observe for several minutes before Fluffy signals them to move back. Instead of having Chuckles and the Seeker join them, they go all the way back.

“Okay, there was one that looked like ambulatory lava,” Fluffy starts.

“Rage demon,” Varric explains. “The rest looked like shades, between four and six; I couldn’t get a good count.”

“Six,” Fluffy confirms. “They’re moving in staggered cycles around the crown of the hill, which looks random at a glance, but if you can see all the shades and follow their movements, the ordered nature of the pattern becomes apparent.” He takes a few minutes to describe it then, and Varric can definitely square what the kid describes with what he saw himself. Still—

“Damn, Fluffy, you got all that? What the hell was I along for then?”

“Enemy identification and watching my back,” Fluffy says matter-of-factly. “I  _ can _ scout alone, but I really prefer not to.”

The fact that he chooses to rely on  _ Varric _ of all people to watch his back is less surprising than it would have been before he had been given the list of reasons Fluffy-stuff picked him for a rear guard, but it’s still kind of nice.

“Anyway! My hand is literally itching to close that rift,” Fluffy continues. “But since the demons don’t know we’re here, we have some time, so let’s talk strategy.” He produces one of his spade-shaped throwing knives, and uses it to draw a top-down map of the hill.

“The rift is here-“ he marks it “-at the crown of the hill. The Rage demon moves around it without any particular pattern. The shades are further out-“ again, he draws a circle to denote their rough location “-and moving in the pattern previously discussed. I want you three to focus on the Rage demon; I’ll provide a distraction and take care of the shades in one blow, and then—“

“All of the shades? At once? How?” the Seeker demands.

“ _ Housenka no jutsu _ ,” Fluffy replies immediately. “It’s  _ katon _ —um-“ he hesitates, looking for the right word “-fire elemental? Like a fireball, but scattered over a wide area, even wider than my fireball can hit. I can take all the shades, but I doubt the Rage demon, being made of lava, will care. It  _ will _ be distracted though, which is a great time for Solas-“ he points at the other mage, and grins “-to hit it with his ice element. I don’t know much about using ice in battle, so please use your best judgement, Solas.”

“Of course.” He inclines his head slightly. “I ought to be able to freeze it solid, however briefly, whereupon Master Tethras and Seeker Cassandra can take the opportunity to shatter it, before it can reassert its will upon its form.”

“ _ Exactly _ what I was thinking. Okay, I’ll come around the other side of the hill, and cast my jutsu-“

“-spell,” Chuckles provides.

“-spell, and that’ll be your cue. We’ll call this tactic Formation Zero.”

“Which implies the eventual existence of additional formations,” Seeker comments. “I approve; it is an efficient way of conveying a battle tactic in nearly any situation.”

“Exactly,” Fluffy agrees, pointing at her. “Now let’s do this.”

The battle goes smoothly;  _ extremely _ smoothly, since true to his word, Fluffy fries all the shades in one go. The Rage demon literally doesn’t even get a  _ chance _ to know what hit it, since Chuckles ices it hard. Varric’s shot cracks the ice, and the Seeker’s shield bash—directly on top of the bolt—shatters it to pieces, leaving just a trace of... something behind. Fluffy goes to check it out, and Varric falls in behind him, watching his back, just in case.

“Careful Fluffy, demons can be tricky,” he warns. The kid nods.

“I gathered. It’s gone though,” he says, pressing one hand to the scorched and frostbitten ground, before carefully picking up what looks like a still-smouldering fragment of the Rage demon. “Mostly,” he corrects, frowning.

“This small piece of what that demon was is inert,” Chuckles says, coming up beside them. “More importantly, Shisui, you should take care of that rift before it attracts more curious spirits to the other side, and creates more tragedy.”

“Right.” Fluffy tucks the bit of Rage demon away, and raises his left hand. In a matter of seconds, the rift is sealed away, without any trace more than the marks of battle.

“That didn’t take too long,” Fluffy comments, as they head back down to the road. “I think we have our timing down pretty well; it’s nice to work with professionals. I still want to discuss the battle when we stop tonight, and look for holes, and room for improvement. For instance, if the rift had produced another wave of demons, or we had been set upon by bandits in the middle of things, that kind of thing. We can give it some thought along the way.”

When they reach the road, they fall back into formation, and Fluffy picks up his interrogation of the Seeker exactly where they left off, to the word. He has a sharp memory, one of the best Varric has ever seen.

Fluffy and the Seeker’s discussion eventually moves from individual capabilities to small-unit tactics, and then to larger-scale strategy (including  _ logistics; _ Varric would never have pegged that fluffy head to hold so much information about logistics), until Fluffy breaks off with a laugh, and says:

“We should eat. I need to talk to Solas afterwards, but we can definitely talk later, Cassandra.”

“I look forward to it,” she replies. “You should also make time to speak with Commander Cullen when we return; I am certain you will both benefit.”

The party rotates again then, and Fluffy and Chuckles quickly fall into a rapidfire exchange about magic, and elements, and... A lot of it goes right over Varric's head, though he takes note of the vocabulary at least, because he's got  _ ideas _ , and if he's going to feature a mage in his next book--and why not feature a mage?--it'd be nice to get the details right if he can.

Not that even half of what they're saying makes much sense, especially when they start getting esoteric... and using Fluffy's words. It's a reminder of just how quickly he apparently picked up the local lingo; when he thinks about it, it makes Varric's hair stand on end, actually. There's smart, and then there's...  _ that _ . He wants to like the kid--he  _ does _ like the kid, actually--but he can't ignore the nagging voice that says there's just something  _ off _ here.

Maybe it's just a matter of culture; it clear that wherever Fluffy-stuff comes from, it's  _ really _ different. Mages in the normal forces, mages who double as rogues--or is it rogues doubling as mages? Varric adds 'Ask Fluffy what the hell his people call themselves' to his mental to-do list, draws Bianca and shoots in the same moment that Fluffy throws one--two--three--of his knives, and they nail the would-be ambushers on either side of the road right between the eyes, right in the throat, or in the case of one of Fluffy's knives, right through the foot, pinning the poor sap to the tree branch he's standing on. It takes him several seconds to start screaming.

They have all this done before Chuckles and the Seeker even have their weapons drawn.

"Nice shot," Fluffy calls, as he hops lightly over to the screamer.

"You missed one," Varric teases, following him to retrieve his bolt.

"You know I didn't," the kid counters. He stops by the screaming man, and shushes him with a pat on the cheek. It should be nothing but a taunt, but somehow it works, the man--a scrawny bandit rogue, with mis-matched long knives, and a belt full of interesting things--stops screaming, instead just staring at Fluffy, as the kid moves to retrieve his knives and anything else that looks worth taking from the fallen.

Varric helps, and they have the bodies stripped of anything useful very quickly. The kid even checks their mouths for hollow teeth and suicide capsules; not actually something Varric would think of on a normal daily basis, but things haven't been normal since before Fluffy-stuff got here, and so: it is something that he should do, he reminds himself.

The screamer keeps watching them passively, until Fluffy walks up to him, and pats him on the cheek again.

"Okay, time to tell us all about any other friends you have lurking around here, guy," he says.

"Another ambush a mile up," the man says. "And a toll at the bridge."

"Hm. How many men at each?" Fluffy's tone is mild and conversational, like he's just making small-talk.

"Six at the next site, and ten at the bridge, not countin' the knife-ear apostate bastard."

"Hey, no need to be rude," Fluffy chides him. "What about fortifications?"

"Barriers and them spikey things for horses," the man replies. It's  _ creepy _ , and it's clear that Fluffy-stuff did  _ something _ to his head, but Varric thought that you could only do something like that with blood magic? Only he didn't  _ see _ any blood when Fluffy started in on the guy, and he still doesn't see any, not beyond what's been spilled by their weapons, and that's all right where it should be...

He glances over to see Chuckles holding back the Seeker, his eyebrows drawn together thoughtfully. Varric raises an eyebrow of his own, and gets a little shake of the elf's head; not blood magic then, as far as he can tell. That's a relief.

Of course it  _ also _ means that now instead of  _ one _ idea of what Fluffy's doing, Varric's back to zero ideas, but it's still better than being hit with surprise blood magic.

"What about your base?" Fluffy asks. "Hey, I know, how about you show me where it is, yeah?" He produces a map, and for the first time since this whole surreal interrogation started, the bandit shows a spark of something other than utter passivity. He takes the charcoal that Fluffy produces, and makes a mark on the map.

"Twenty more men at base," he says. "Got an alchemist and a Templar t'keep the apostate in line, too."

Seeker's frown deepens, and she shifts slightly. Fluffy shoots a warning look back at her.

"How about fortifications?" he asks the bandit.

All-in-all, Varric thinks it takes about twenty minutes for Fluffy to coax the details of every bandit hidey-hole and stronghold out of the bandit, before finally sending him to sleep with a simple command.

"Not killing him?" Varric asks, surprised.

"Nah. At least—Cassandra, does Commander Cullen know about all of this?” Fluffy strides over, and offers the Seeker the annotated map. She takes it carefully, and looks it over, before shaking her head.

“He does not,” she says. “We... should delay our journey; there is still time to return—“

“Negative, I have a better way.” Before any of them can ask, Fluffy bites his thumb, and crouches to the ground, speaking a word in his own language that Varric doesn’t quite catch. A spiderweb of runes spreads from beneath his hand, and after a moment, a cloud of smoke that quickly dissipates into... a crow? The bird caws a greeting, and flutters up to Fluffy’s shoulder, blending almost seamlessly with his hair as it starts preening him. On the ground, the runes are gone, but a smear of blood remains.

Chuckles and Seeker are both staring; the Seeker baffled, and Chuckles... if Varric didn’t know better, he’d call that a look of startled recognition. Neither of them seem to notice the evidence of blood magic, and Varric decides for all of them that now is  _ really _ not the time to have that (admittedly inevitable) confrontation, and he uses a subtle shift and gesture to just cover it up. Neither of them notice, but Fluffy does. Well, Varric didn’t mean to hide it from him. And...

Shit, he’s so young, and maybe his home’s like Tevinter, and nobody cares if you do blood magic? Varric thinks of Daisy, thinks of Hawke, and remembers that as bad as blood magic  _ can _ be, sometimes it’s just a tool.

“My friend here can take the intel back to Haven,” Fluffy explains. “And deliver it right to Leliana. He can also find his way back to me if she has any reply.”

“I  _ thought _ you and Leliana understood each other too well, even without a language in common,” Seeker says. Fluffy gives her a cheeky grin.

“We do understand each other. Now give me just a minute here.”

It really does take him just about a minute to get the annotated map rolled up with a quick report, and tucked into a scroll case fitted on the bird’s back. Fluffy gives the bird a series of instructions in his own language, and then the bird takes off, heading directly for Haven.

“How will it—he—know how to find her?” Chuckles asks.

“I told him what she looks like,” Fluffy says. “And let him know there are other corvids there, too, who can probably help.”

“He understands that much?” the Seeker asks, incredulously.

“Crows are smart to begin with,” Fluffy replies. “And summons aren’t normal animals; my friends are easily as smart as people, even if they aren’t sage animals. But we can save any further discussion for later. We’re going to go around the ambushes, and skip the bridge, here-“ he pulls out another map, and describes the new route “-because right now, dealing with bandits is not our mission. Cullen’s troops are perfectly capable of handling what our unconscious man over there described.”

“It does not sit right with me to leave those bandits when we know where they are,” the Seeker says. “But you are not wrong. Let us go.”

They go. Fluffy and Chuckles get drawn into something that's less a friendly interrogation, and more... Varric's not sure what to call it, but it's very intense, and very esoteric, but they both seem to get something out of it that satisfies them magically and tactically, and really, good for them.

The path takes them away from the road, and then roughly parallel to it, heading for the river that they have to cross to get further down from the mountains. It's a rough river, glacial runoff tumbling over black and grey stone, and carving ravines as it twists its way down, to join the bigger waterways in the Hinterlands. And that's when a thought occurs to Varric.

"Hey Fluffy, how were you planning to get us across the river? The only bridge is the one under the bandits' control, and there aren't exactly any fords anywhere inside a day or two's march," he calls.

"I thought of that!" Fluffy says. He turns to grin at Varric, walking backwards beside Chuckles with just as much grace as he has facing forward.  _ Damn, that kid's good. _

"What, don't tell me you can walk on water, too?" Varric asks. Fluffy's grin widens.

"Of course! It's not hard; if we had more time, I'd try to teach everyone--I still don't believe that dwarves are completely without chakra, you probably just use it  _ differently _ \--but since we're in a hurry right now, if we need to, I can carry everyone across, like I did going up the mountain to the Breach."

Varric grimaces, and says, "I don't know, Fluffy, you sure we can't go back to take on the bandits?" Fluffy of course just laughs, because he's not really wrong; it  _ is _ faster to do it his way, even if Varric doesn't really like the idea of experiencing that dramatic rush of speed again.

"It's just a river," Fluffy says. "I shouldn't need to  _ shunshin _ across; that was just easier with the vertical distance." He flattens his hand, and raises it up, describing the cliff. Varric shakes his head.

"I'll believe it when we get there," he says, and gets another laugh for his trouble. Fluffy turns back around, and ends up swapping places with the Seeker, and taking point again.

It seems like he has more faith or confidence in them as a party, this time, because instead of staying within sight, he ranges out, in different directions, returning every so often to check in and adjust their course.

"The river's up ahead," he says finally, around the time the sun is starting to pass behind the mountains. "We'll need to go downstream for about half an hour; the ravine here is really deep, but it flattens out again in a bit."

"After we cross, we should begin looking for a place to make camp," Seeker suggests.

"I agree," Chuckles adds. "This part of the region is poorly mapped, and it may be some time before we find something appropriate."

Fluffy gives Varric a questioning look, and Varric nods his agreement. It's a sound plan, and it's going to start getting much colder very soon.

"All right," Fluffy says. "We'll do that."

They get to the river quickly enough, and then downstream. The edges of the banks are frozen, and the water  _ sounds _ cold, and Varric does  _ not _ want to fall in. Luckily it turns out Fluffy actually  _ can _ walk on water, and he gets the rest of them over without trouble--or weird speed tricks.

"There, see? No trouble at all," he says. A cold breeze runs down the ravine, ruffling Fluffy's hair. He shivers a little, one of the few reactions Varric has seen him have towards the weather. But the temperature is dropping fast now, and the light is fading even faster, and Fluffy frowns up at the sky.

"How is everyone's vision at night?" he asks.

"Good, actually," Varric replies. "Dwarves see a lot better in the dark than humans and elves, usually. Even those of us who  _ haven't _ spent our lives crawling around in caves."

"Mine is no better than any other human's," Seeker says, shaking her head.

"I see slightly better in the dark than most, I think," Chuckles says. "But I doubt I see better than Master Tethras. What about you, Shisui?"

"Oh, I'm just fine," the kid says. "I have no problem seeing in the dark." He taps his chin thoughtfully, looking at each of them in turn, before nodding to himself.

"Keep the same formation. I'll start scouting specifically for a place to camp, and if we can't find something by the time Cassandra can't see, I'll make one."

"With magic, I presume?" Chuckles asks.

"Sure, why not? I'd prefer not to leave such an obvious trail, but we're not in enemy territory, and I'd  _ really _ prefer not to freeze to death in my sleep."

Varric laughs; he can't fault the kid's sense of humour.

"All right kid, let's get going, then," he says. "I've got things here--you go find us a place to pitch a tent." Fluffy flashes him a grin--straight teeth bright in the dimming light--and a salute, and he takes off, leaping up into the trees that are thicker and older here, less frequently harvested by the people in and around Haven.

Chuckles looks after him, startled for a moment, before shaking his head, and focusing and moving through--across--the snow. He and the Seeker shift slightly, so that she's a step in front of him, and Varric lets himself drop back a step as well, staggering their ranks a little further, and giving himself more room to work. There haven't been any signs of anything bigger than a rabbit or a squirrel, but they're still close to water, and just because they haven't seen a bear  _ yet _ doesn't mean they  _ won't _ \--

Like a fucking  _ charm _ , just thinking about it makes a low roar come from the trees ahead. The three of them have weapons in hand, ready, when the sound just. Cuts off.

"He may still need our aid," the Seeker points out, saying what all three of them are thinking--or not thinking. They pick up the pace, but it still takes several minutes before they reach the small clearing by a rocky outcrop over a small cave in the side of the mountain.

The contents of the cave are on fire, and so is the corpse of the bear. It looks unnervingly skinny there in the flames.

Fluffy's keeping his distance, upwind of the fires, with his face wrapped in a scarf, and uncharacteristically serious eyes reflecting the red-and-orange firelight. He holds up a hand to halt them.

"It was rabid," he says. "Probably why it was awake..."

Without waiting for another word, Chuckles casts a barrier.

"It won't protect against a bite or anything like that, but it should keep any stray blood from us," he says.

"Thank you," Seeker says, nodding her head.

"That's  _ handy _ ," Fluffy agrees. "So, we're going to see that all of this is safely burnt out, and then we're going to see if we can find a less occupied cave nearby."

"I can scout while you watch the fire," Varric offers. A cave would be nice, if they can find one; the breeze is picking up, and he can almost call it a wind now, and it's very, very cold.

"Good idea," Fluffy agrees, and gestures for him to go.

Varric first eyeballs the cleavage of the outcropping over the cave, and then picks his direction, taking a wide circle around the clearing, upwind, until he's sure it's safe. There are bear tracks up here, in a loop around the outcrop, and back, but thankfully only one set, hopefully one belonging to the bear Fluffy already took care of. Varric changes direction to move away from the tracks, as the last light of the sunset stretches his shadow before him over the snow.

The wind is  _ definitely _ picking up as Varric inches down a short slope, past a stand of trees, and down into a sheltered little dip in the landscape. Not a cave, and not free from snow, but the wind is cut, and there's nothing down there. It looks good, in short.

On his way back up, Varric spots an elfroot vine growing behind the arch of a root, and he takes the time to harvest it before carrying on. Never hurts to have more of the stuff on hand.

By the time he gets back to the clearing, the fires are almost completely burnt out, leaving nothing but ash and embers--not even bones are left. He gives a low whistle.

"That's some hot fire, Fluffy."

"I made it that way, to make sure," the kid replies. "Blood is made in the bones, and it has to be hot enough to burn the bones. Did you find something?"

"Not a cave," Varric replies. "But it'll work."

"Good," Fluffy says. And when the fire finally dies, "Lead the way."

Varric does, and before long, they're settled down in the little sheltered spot. There's only room for one tent, so that's all that Fluffy pulls from his 'storage scroll', as he calls it, along with their bedding. It's a good thing he had demonstrated it to the Seeker during their 'logistics dinner' the night before, is all he can think, because even as it is, Varric still doesn't miss the way it makes her jump a little. Fluffy's a good kid though, doesn't hold it against her, or maybe just used to a bit of jumpiness from non-mages. Although given what he's said, Varric isn't entirely sure that there  _ are _ non-mages in his homeland, which has to be...  _ interesting _ . It also makes a good story-seed: a mage coming from a (plausibly fictional) country of mages? Not like Tevinter, but a place where everyone just casually uses magic the way most people use ordinary tools...?

A bit far-fetched, but worth writing down. There's  _ something _ there. Once camp is set up, Varric takes the time to jot it down in his 'ideas' notebook.

Fluffy takes cooking, after checking for spice preferences from everyone, and starts putting together something that smells quite reasonable, if... unfamiliar.

Seeker sets up the tent to her liking, and Varric's pretty sure that all the men in the party just silently agreed to allow it; she's the only woman, she should be comfortable.

Chuckles... Varric has to look around, and he finds the elf back upslope, keeping watch on their backtrail. Varric puts his eyes back on the downslope for now, until Fluffy calls them all for dinner.

It's--different. Not bad, but definitely different. By the looks of things, it will be breakfast in the morning too, and Varric's all right with that.

After a quick discussion about the logistics, the three men bundle into the tent, leaving the Seeker with the first watch. It's funny, he doesn't feel that sleepy, but the second he hits the bedroll? Varric is out like a light.


	5. On The Road (Again)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting from Point A to Point B hasn't taken this long since Wheel of Time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for you condolences and understanding. We lost him last Saturday. It's been a rollercoaster since then, but! Here's the chapter! 
> 
> Thanks as always to Tyger.

Shisui wakes in the comfortable crook of a Hashirama tree, and immediately knows that he is not, in fact, awake. A quick check reveals no intruders in his mind this time, which is a pleasant surprise--Solas seems like the type to be  _ persistent _ \--but there is a rather peculiar  _ sound _ .

He's halfway through his mental inventory of 'peculiar sounds' when he realises that it's just  _ knocking _ . If 'knocking' came from the bottom of a stone well on the other side of a forest. It sounds distant, but distance is an illusion, no more real than anything else in the mind, and the door appears beneath his hand the second he reaches for it.

"Oh look," he comments, as he pulls the door open. "You can learn."

"In my defence, your dreams did not seem closed," Solas says. His shoulders are squarely tensed, but he doesn't hesitate to meet Shisui's eyes. "I realise now of course that that was a trap, and a very clever one at that."

"I hope you realised that it was a trap sometime  _ before _ now," Shisui replies. He steps to the side, leaning on the doorframe, but leaving Solas the room to join him, or not, as he chooses.

For now, it seems, he chooses not, leaving them speaking on the borders of Shisui's mental space; it probably makes him feel more comfortable, not quite touching Shisui's 'territory.'

"I confess, until you directly confronted me, I had thought that you had been possessed by a Fear demon, and I had stumbled into  _ its _ trap," Solas admits, and there it is. The thing that's had the man giving him sidelong looks the last two days, and it's.

Shisui just.

He has to laugh.

"I'll take that as a compliment! It's supposed to be scary!"

Solas gives him a look of incredulous disbelief, and then pinches the bridge of his nose, and shakes his head.

"Please do not say that aloud in the waking world," he says. "I understand taking pride in crafting a fearscape to rival the territory of a Fear demon, but few others will."

"I don't see why," Shisui replies. "No, don't get me wrong," he adds, holding up a hand to forestall a reply from Solas. "I understand why it might be upsetting for a civilian, but frankly, aside from the big one that first day, none of them have been frightening, or even worrying."

"The Pride demon," Solas clarifies. "Yes, I understand why you may find yourself unworried; your physical and magical capabilities far outstrip those of most people, even most trained, skilled people. There are those who will be troubled by it, and who will make trouble for you on account of it."

"I hear that water is also wet," Shisui replies, rolling his eyes. Solas doesn't laugh, but humour does spark in his eyes.

"Yes, fear and envy are the ancient companions of all peoples, I am afraid," he says. "But I would have been remiss had I not mentioned it. I would also be remiss if I did not mention that you should have a care to whom you show your eyes." Solas meets his gaze, and Shisui does not misunderstand him. "Though I believe you are yourself and none other, the sight of such a thing might well convince most others that you are possessed--or worse, a demon all together, merely wearing an admittedly convincing human guise."

Shisui tilts his head slightly, regarding Solas as he considers what to say. It costs him nothing, he decides, to just tell the truth.

"That's nothing very different from what I'm used to," he says. "Outside my clan and village, it's pretty much what I expect."

"Do you expect them to try to kill you?" Solas asks. In response, Shisui raises his left hand, and waves it about, leaving a faint trail of acid-green light. Solas watches his hand with wary eyes, and slightly pursed lips.

"Not as long as I have this. But don't worry," he continues. "Nobody will see anything I don't want them to. I  _ am _ a professional, you know~!" He grins at Solas' skeptical face, and reaches out to pat him on the head.

The combined surprise and affront on Solas' face sets Shisui to laughing again. Solas pinches the bridge of his nose and heaves a sigh again.

Somewhere behind him, something moves, catching Shisui's eye, and Solas does not fail to miss his reaction: he turns, scanning the--Fade, Shisui guesses, based on what he has been reading.

"Just a wisp," Solas says after a moment. "Attracted no doubt to your mirth. They often are." Shisui cocks his head curiously, and so Solas continues, "They are the least of spirits, with no purpose yet to define them--you may perhaps think of them as the purest of spirits, for they have felt little influence from others."

"Are they dangerous?" Shisui asks, activating his sharingan, and scanning the Fade again. This time he definitely sees the wisp, and several others as well, including one that has a roughly-defined humanoid shape. It puts him in mind of a curious kid more than anything else.

"To you or I? No. But anything can be dangerous, Shisui. I believe that you know that very well." The faint note of admonishment sounds  _ so much like _ Elder Kaede that Shisui can't help but automatically respond.

"Yes Honoured Elder," his mouth says for him. Solas actually laughs.

“I keep forgetting that you really are very young,” the man says, still amused.

“Yeah, but I kicked  _ your _ ass,” Shisui reminds him. “And I will again, if you try to get in my head without permission.” Solas raises his hands in surrender.

“I understand. And I am in no way denigrating your abilities or experience, however, the fact remains that you  _ are _ young, and you  _ will _ be seen as such by most people you encounter.”

“Then they’ll underestimate me, to their detriment. Why did you come knocking?” he asks abruptly, before Solas can respond.

“I wanted to warn you where we would not be overheard,” Solas replies. “And to assure you that I will not try your mental defences again. Although others likely will.”

“Other mages?” Shisui asks.

“Not likely. The ability to seek the dreams of others, and move freely through the Fade is very rare in this age. I was speaking of demons, and other curious spirits.”

“They haven’t bothered me yet.” Which is kind of weird, from what he’s read. Actually... “That’s weird isn’t it?” he asks, frowning a little. “Based on what I’ve read, shouldn’t my dreams be swarming with things trying to eat me, or something?”

“Yes, that is the impression you would get from the materials available to you in Haven, isn’t it?” Solas asks, a wire-thin sharpness to his usually mild tone. “They would have you believe that all spirits are malevolent demons, out to ravage and kill. But the fact of the matter is that most spirits are harmless, and unlikely to bother anyone if left in peace.”

“So the same as anyone else, you’re saying.”

“Precisely. And to be quite frank, you have likely not sensed any intruding upon your dreams because of the Breach, and the rifts it created; any spirits near enough were forcibly drawn through, becoming demons when they were torn from their purpose,” Solas explains. "Regardless, the further we get from the site of the Breach, the more they will be drawn to you. If there is a way for you to ensure the innocent do not get caught in your defences..."

"I can do that," Shisui says.

"I appreciate the consideration." Solas inclines his head, radiating sincere relief. Shisui watches him silently a minute, two, three, sharingan spinning slowly, cataloguing everything he can see. It is... interesting, he thinks. There are phantoms around Solas, shadows of himself, as if he is more than he presents himself to be--well, Shisui already knew  _ that. _ That he can see it like this, at a meeting of minds in the Fade, comfortably (for Solas) far from the control of his own 'territory'...

There is nothing concrete, not even to his sharingan, but it is enough that it is  _ there _ , and later, Shisui will meditate on it, and try to parse what information he can from it. For now, he just says,

"Taking it a little personally?"

"I know many spirits who would be drawn to you, for the mark on your hand if nothing else, and thence drawn into your mind and its traps. I fear what would become of them," Solas replies. "They do not deserve it."

"No," Shisui agrees. "They probably don't." He lets his gaze rove over the spirits hovering on the edges of their conversation, and on impulse, reaches through his 'door', and beckons to the wisp that had drifted close enough for him to spot in the first place. Solas holds his breath as it comes, lighting curiously on Shisui's hand.

"Hey there fella," he says to it. "I know it's interesting to look at other peoples' thoughts, but some of us consider it a bit rude, you know? And some of us are dangerous enough that maybe you should keep your distance. You can say hi when it's like this," he hurries to assure it, when it starts to feel sad. "I just don't want to hurt anyone by accident, okay? All right, go on." He gives it a gentle push, and it hovers for a moment, before moving off to join the others again. Solas looks after it for a long moment.

"That... is not an approach I was expecting," he admits, turning his attention back to Shisui.

"Not what I was planning on either," Shisui says. "But spirits are like  _ kami _ , I think, so asking respectfully can't hurt." He waves a hand at all the spirits hovering in their vicinity. "They're not hurting anything. If we treat them well, they'll do the same. Right?"

"That is exactly right," Solas replies. He smiles broadly, pale eyes bright with genuine pleasure. "You surprise me. Pleasantly, this time."

"It shouldn't be a surprise." Oh look, Shisui's turn to chide him! "I already told you about the  _ kami _ ."

"So you did," Solas allows. "And I do not even have the excuse of youth."

"No, just old age. Ah, and that's my alarm," he adds, pointing to the faint chiming back in his mindscape. "Time for my watch. See you on the other side!"

Shisui gives Solas a cheerful wave, and shuts the door in his face, before making himself wake up.

His sharingan are active when he opens his eyes, and he can see the shapes of Cassandra and Solas' chakra moving through them as they dream. It's very different, and not just because Solas has so very much  _ more _ than Cassandra. Hers is diffuse, spread evenly through her body, while his is clear and sharp, and moves in specific patterns, concentrated mainly in his head and his hands, and moving through his core. He would need a byakugan to make out more detail, but the difference is quite telling.

Looking out of the tent, he can see Varric sitting in the light of the fire, staring out into the dark with Bianca in his hands, but what he  _ cannot _ see is any chakra. At all. He might as well be a piece of the stone he's sitting on.

Shisui rubs his eyes, and glances at the sleeping members of his party again.

Chakra.

Back out at Varric.

No chakra.

Shisui squeezes his eyes shut, and stops his sharingan before opening them, and slipping out to join Varric by the fire.

"Your turn to sleep, Varric," he says.

"Hey Fluffy, good timing," Varric calls back. "It's been quiet, if you were wondering."

"I was, and thanks," Shisui replies. He sits beside Varric, and accepts the cup of tea the dwarf passes over to him with a nod. "This was a good idea."

"You can thank the Seeker when she gets up," Varric replies. He takes a minute to get Bianca set up for the night, and then heads to the tent. Shisui sips his tea, and activates his sharingan; on his own, it's perfectly safe, and even wise.

There isn't much life around here right now, aside from the trees and other plants. It's quiet, but not an unnatural quiet, just the quiet of winter, of the still time, when everything sleeps.

A tiny prickle of  _ cold _ touches his cheek, very briefly, before melting into water. Reflexively, he tips his head back, and sees several more flakes of snow drifting slowly toward his face. It's lovely... and both useful, and annoying. Useful for covering Varric’s and Cassandra's tracks, annoying in that it will weigh down and wet things. Hopefully, there won't be more than a light dusting, and it won't delay them getting out of the mountains.

His briefing from Leliana had included the fact that although it is still cold, outside of the mountains the snow in Ferelden is mostly melted. Shisui isn't exactly looking forward to the squish of mud beneath his sandals, but he'll be glad to get out of the snow for a while.

After he finishes his tea, Shisui hops to his feet, and does a short, silent sweep of the camp perimeter. To his dismay, outside of their sheltered little dip in the rock, the mountainside appears to be in the grips of a full-blown snowstorm. It is. Not fun. At least he already has his cloak and hood, even if they aren't exactly designed for full howling winter storms.

Back down in camp, he builds up the fire, and refills the teapot; it was strong, the leaves can probably go through another brew or three. And then he deliberately exudes a low, deliberate amount of KI--just enough to make any wildlife think twice about taking shelter in  _ this _ little spot. He feels a little bad for the animals, but not  _ that _ bad. The comfort and safety of his team takes precedence.

A glance at the tent lets him see some restless shifting, but his KI is low enough not to wake them; good.

While the tea brews, he pulls out his whetstone, and starts working on his kunai; it gives him something to do, and puts a weapon already in his hand if something desperate--or rabid--enough to ignore his KI should come upon them.

Still, a quiet watch is a good watch, and Shisui's watch is a quiet one. His tea is good, and the weather isn't too bad, as long as he doesn't think about what it's doing just outside the bubble of their camp. His tools are cleaned and sharpened well before it's over though, and he has to resist the urge to start throwing them into patterns on the nearest tree, just to avoid thinking.

It's hard to avoid thinking, in the still, silent time.

It's hard to stay out of the crystal-clear memories of his sharingan, especially when he has them running, a constant steady pull on his chakra.

They shouldn't be. He shouldn't have them. He shouldn't be  _ alive _ , and yet, here he is, alive and breathing, and so far from home that he's pretty sure that words for that kind of distance haven't even been invented yet, by anyone.

His last sight of Itachi's face before he removed his own eye forces itself into his consciousness, and he snarls softly, breath yellow-grey in the firelight, and pushes it away with the other sights he's given himself. Itachi in better times. His Ma. Little baby Sasuke puffing out his little baby cheeks, because he's a little baby. Itachi's face, watching his little baby brother.

Sunny spring days, with civilian children playing safe and innocent, fallen sakura filling the Naka, and making it terribly,  _ terribly _ fun to tip deserving prank targets into. Wet flower petals can be a bigger pain in the ass than a lot of people realise. ...And he needs to stop that line of thought, because it's leading to melancholy,  _ really fast _ . He has  _ met _ himself, and he has no time for that.

A deep breath, and another; he can't afford to meditate while he's on  _ watch _ of all things, but a little bit of centering won't hurt anything, and it will let him put those nagging thoughts and memories aside, for a little while longer.

It's harder than it should be.

The night is still utterly black outside the circle of the fire when he notices the change in Solas' chakra, the shift as it moves more evenly through his body as he wakes. It isn't long before he joins Shisui out by the fire.

"Yo," Shisui says. "There's tea. And snow," he adds. "It's worse outside of here; a real storm, wind and all."

"Ah, thus the... aura of dread," Solas comments. "To deter animals, I presume, though it has also affected the Fade."

Oh, now  _ that's _ interesting.

"Yeah, to deter animals. I don't want to be sharing space with a wild bear, even if it's  _ not _ rabid." Shisui gestures upslope, and continues, "It's called Killing Intent, KI for short. People aren't smart enough to be deterred, unless I crank it up, which I don't like to do, but animals recognise that there's something here that  _ will _ kill them, and stay away unless they're  _ really _ desperate."

"Fascinating," Solas murmurs.

Shisui's finely-honed fire-related instincts tell him it's time to feed the fire, so he does.

"Do you... mind if I stay up?" he asks after a moment. "Going back to sleep is a bad idea right now, and so is sitting up alone." A beat, and, "Also if I go to sleep, my KI turns off, and the animals might come in."

"You do not think I could handle them?"

"I think they'd give you more trouble than they would me."

"Then perhaps," Solas replies. "You ought to stay up, and we can continue our conversation from the road." Shisui finds himself sitting up straighter.

"Yes!" he agrees. That sounds like an  _ amazing _ distraction, and just what Shisui needs. It seems like Solas really is trying to make up for poking his nose where it doesn't belong. Good for him. Shisui still doesn't exactly  _ trust _ him--fuuinjutsu lesson notwithstanding; it remains to be seen whether or not Solas can make any real use of those tags, and Shisui wants to  _ know _ . It's a bad impulse, but Solas is  _ smart _ , and powerful, and moreover,  _ old. _ Shisui isn't sure  _ how _ old, but it's not just a feeling: he saw it, that time, when Solas was in his mind.

Old, powerful, and smart: a dangerous combination, but  _ maybe _ something Shisui can use to get back home, somehow. And if not, he'll definitely learn something, and that is  _ always _ a goal.

“I am curious,” Solas says. “That bird you summoned—it was not a spirit, nor was it some phantom or illusion.”

“No, summons are real, flesh-and-blood creatures that come from somewhere else,” Shisui replies. “‘Where’ depends on the summons. I’m not going to go into the details, but summoning is technically a kind of time-space jutsu-“ Solas’ eyes light up with interest “-and in order to gain a summon, you have to contract with them.”

“Ah, and I take it that going into the details too much about the particulars of the contract and the summons would violate said contract?” Solas asks.

“Unless you were to sign it yourself, yes,” Shisui confirms easily.

“Could I?” Solas asks, trying to be casual. His microexpressions give him away: the minute dilation of his pupils, the way the capillaries in his skin expand.

“Nope. I gave the contract to my friend. I’ve signed, so it’s mine, but I’m not the one who carries it any longer.” There’s no-one better, in Shisui’s mind, than Itachi.

“Ah, a shame.”

“I don’t think the corvid contract would be right for you, anyway.  _ Both sides _ have to agree. No, if you really want summons...”

“If I really want summons?” Solas prompts helpfully. It’s always so nice when people play along. Shisui really appreciates it.

“Master those tags, first,” he says, pointing to the belt pouch where Solas has them stashed.

Shisui is fairly certain, after meeting the man twice in his dreams now, that Solas won’t blanche at the fact that signing a contract, and summoning, both involve blood. But he’s not certain yet, and he  _ has _ been reading. ‘Blood magic’ is only vaguely alluded to in the texts he’s been able to get ahold of, but it’s always with horror, and dire warnings, as if using the power in your own blood is going to immediately turn you into some cartoonish villain, consorting with demons and eating babies or something.

"I am curious," Solas says, pulling out one of the low-powered 'training' tags Shisui had made for him. "I studied this for many hours, and no matter how I looked, I did not find any rune that I recognised. Most runework is based on that of the ancient elves, or dwarves, but this resembles neither."

"That's because it's not based on any of that," Shisui replies. "Really, it's just the cursive version of my normal written language, describing the desired effect in the correct language, with the degree of effect included, and space for modifiers." He points to each of them as he goes, and he wonders if that context alone will allow Solas to gain a better mastery.

He can definitely  _ use _ them; his test yesterday proved that much. And answered some of his questions about magic and chakra; in his reading, he had started to wonder if they were the same thing at all. But no, one simple test seems to have confirmed his initial assumption that they're the same thing, so mark a win down in his column.

He is also sure now that no-one here knows what a shinobi is, has ever heard of ninja and kunoichi, wouldn't know a Sage if it bit them on the ass. It's disheartening, and he's trying very hard not to think of it, especially not right now, in the middle of a mission.

"You'll understand if I don't plan on teaching you right now," he says, gesturing around their campsite. The snow is falling a little thicker now; it must be  _ bad _ 'outside'.

"Perhaps there is something else we could discuss then," Solas replies, tucking the matchstick tag away.

(The best Shisui could do with the materials available, and his own skills; Josephine had been kind enough to take his stationary request at least. Hopefully there will be some better supplies waiting when they conclude the mission, otherwise he'll have to work on improving his fuuinjutsu skills more than he ever really planned on. Not that any of this has been something he planned on.)

His discontent is well-hidden enough that if Shisui's eyes weren't already on, he might not see it, but they are, and he does. Shisui himself doesn't let slip what he sees, and he doubts that Solas can read his expression correctly right now; it's not like it's  _ hard _ , but it does take more than one or two looks to get the hang of reading sharingan.

"Yeah, actually, I was wondering if you would show me how to cast that barrier thing?" Shisui asks. It can't hurt, right? And it's much easier than trying to sneak a decent look when everyone else is watching; the last thing he needs is someone deciding he's possessed.

Well. No. The  _ last _ thing he needs is for Shimura Danzo to magically appear in the middle of the camp, and try to rip out his eyes  _ again _ . And also take his hand for good measure.

"You mean you do not know?" Solas asks. The genuine surprise in his voice matches his raised eyebrows and widened eyes, and the little  _ tick _ in his pulse. "I assumed that you were leaving the defence to me, given your style of combined physical and magic combat."

"That makes sense tactically, but no, I don't know it," Shisui admits easily.

"Hm. You should. There is no telling what the rest of this journey will bring, to say nothing of the Crossroads and the rest of the Hinterlands. Very well." Solas rises from his seat, and gestures for Shisui to do the same. He does, easily, and they both stand atop the snow.

"I will demonstrate without using a staff, first, as you prefer not to use one," Solas says, and does so. Watching with his sharingan Shisui can easily follow the way he moulds his chakra--yin--and releases it with a broad, three-fingered gesture. "Most mages prefer to use a staff, as it makes channelling mana faster and easier, and can even reduce the draw on your personal mana by pulling directly from the Fade, if they are crafted correctly."

Shisui considers that, and also considers the way that he can see the expelled chakra from Solas' jutsu--spell--slipping back under his skin from-- _ somewhere else _ . The Fade? His words certainly make it  _ seem _ that way, if a staff can draw chakra from the Fade in order to lower the draw on the caster, and oh don't the possibilities  _ there _ fill him with  _ such delight _ .

"Are those properties limited to a staff?" Shisui finds himself asking, suddenly, the words coming out before he can properly consider them.

"I am no expert in enchantment," Solas cautions him. "But a sufficiently skilled arcanist can accomplish many things, I am given to understand."

"That's not a yes," Shisui points out, still caught in the thought. There are jutsu that he knows  _ in theory _ , but doesn't dare try yet, but  _ maybe _ with something like  _ that... _

"It is likewise not a no," Solas says. "I have seen many things in my journeys through the Fade, and I do not doubt that someone has at least  _ attempted _ something of the sort. Now, a demonstration of the spell with a staff, and then we can discuss the learning."

"Oh, that? I've got it." Focus the chakra--a tiny amount really-- _ inton _ , easy enough for any Uchiha, gesture like  _ so _ , and the now-familiar shiver of light and sensation that settles over the body. (He really needs to learn the basic hand-signs of their magic, their meanings, and other elementary, Academy student bullshit, but he hasn't been able to find a book, yet.)

Solas blinks, clearly startled.

You'd think he'd never seen an Uchiha nab someone's jutsu before. Heh.

"That was... fast."

"It usually is," Shisui agrees. "I mean, I  _ have _ seen you do this a few times by now. This time, I just got to watch up close."

"In that case, let us skip the second demonstration; your aptitude clearly does not require it. Sit, and I will tell you the specifics of the spell. And of others, if you wish," Solas adds, a flicker of wariness in his eyes. Wordlessly, Shisui plunks himself down again, and pours another cup of tea. Solas relaxes minutely, and joins him.

"Good. Now..."

As it turns out, he doesn't need to find that book after all; Solas is more than happy to tell him anything and everything he wants to know about the basics of casting spells here. The gestures, like hand-signs, but seldom used, because staff-casting makes them unnecessary. The schools--his own skills seem most like Entropy and Primal magic, although the analogues are inexact.

It's  _ fascinating _ , and exactly the distraction Shisui needs to keep himself out of his own head. It  _ keeps _ him distracted until the thin grey light of dawn manages to struggle down to them. The snow is still falling, though not thickly down in their sheltered pocket.

"I'm going to go check on the storm," Shisui says. "Get breakfast started, and wake Cassandra and Varric." Solas nods his agreement, and smiles as Shisui casts his own barrier before heading out into the storm.

The sun is definitely up, but even with his sharingan, Shisui can’t see much more than diffuse grey and white beyond the trees. He does a circuit of the camp, and then another, wider circuit, before putting his eyes away, and returning with a shunshin. All three of them start, though Solas’ reflex is more a twitch than a jerk. He also reaches out and catches one of the leaves the shunshin brings with it.

“I was wondering,” Solas says abruptly, before Shisui can give his gloomy, snow-filled report. “What kind of tree do these come from? I have never seen them before.”

“I’d be surprised if you had,” Shisui replies, plucking the leaf from him, and turning it between his fingers, before handing it back. “They only exist in my homeland. They’re called Hashirama trees,” he adds. “They’re huge, and they’re everywhere.”

He misses them, actually. Nothing beats a Hashirama tree for napping, or reading, or hiding, or spying...

“Anyway, it’s still a blizzard up there,” Shisui says. “Although the wind has died down some, everything is a blur of grey and white.”

A frown goes around the fire, even as Solas hands him a bowl of hot oats, and he can’t blame them.

“No,” he says, to the unasked question. “We don’t really have good options right now. I’ll go check again after breakfast.”

“Very well,” Cassandra agrees. “I do not like it, though.”

“None of us do, Seeker,” Varric replies. He points with his spoon for emphasis. “But we might be stuck here until it stops.”

“Or longer,” Cassandra points out.

“We won’t be,” Shisui says firmly. Better to cut off catastrophising before it starts. “In the worst case, either Solas or I can use  _ shunshin _ —um, Fade step?—to rapidly travel back to Haven for help.”

He spends the next few minutes listening to conversation without much contribution as he inhales his breakfast, watching the snowfall the whole time. It’s slow, but it seems like it’s tapering off as he moves onto his second bowl, and it’s  _ definitely _ reduced by the time he’s finished his third, and moves on to tea.

Cassandra follows his gaze, and then looks back to him.

“Shisui. You see it,” she states.

“Of course. I’ll go check,” he replies. He drains his tea, and stands into a shunshin back out into the storm.

It has definitely calmed down some, but not enough to safely drag Varric and Cassandra through. (Solas can use hyoton and walk on top of the snow. He’s not worried about Solas.)

“It’s getting better,” is what he says when he returns.

“But?” Varric prompts, as Solas hands him another cup of tea.

“It would still be much too easy to get lost,” Shisui replies. “I can see to the next ridge, but not any farther.”

“Perhaps if we wait until noon,” Solas suggests.

“A good idea,” Cassandra agrees, nodding.

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Shisui says. “If it’s clear enough, we’ll head downslope as quickly as we can, pushing into the night if necessary to get below the snow line.”

“That’ll put us right in the middle of pouring rain, you know,” Varric points out. “I’m not saying it’s a bad idea, but it’ll be a wet night.”

“We’ll survive. In the meantime, let’s start packing up under the assumption that we’ll be leaving in a few hours.” Shisui downs his tea, and starts doing just that. The others join him, and as they break camp and get things sealed up again, the snow continues to slow, and thin, and eventually, comes to a stop.

The skies above are still a uniform pale grey, thick and heavy-looking, and if Shisui’s any judge (he’s not), the snow will eventually start up again.

“I will go check,” Solas volunteers, and Shisui nods, since he’s the only one who can use a storage scroll. He both leaves and returns on foot, swiftly enough, without using  _ shunshin. _

“The snow has indeed stopped. I suggest we make haste,” he says, and Shisui nods.

“Double time then,” he says, and Cassandra starts moving with gratifying speed. Surprising speed too, for her heavy armour. Shisui’s impressed; that kind of thing isn’t easy. He’s tried on old-fashioned warplate a couple of times, and it’s not a treat, that’s for damned sure. He has no idea how people in the Warring Clans era dealt with the stuff, honestly, and the only ones who regularly wear anything like it are the Akimichi, who are, well,  _ the Akimichi _ .

“Is something wrong?” Cassandra asks, as she hands him the tent poles for storage.

“Just admiring your ability to move in heavy armour,” Shisui replies. “I’ve tried it a couple times, and it’s  _ hard _ .” She smiles a little.

“When I began my training, I wore weighted plates everywhere, waking and sleeping. The only time we had any relief was during prayers. Now, I barely notice my armour,” she explains. “Because it is well-fitted, and well-crafted. And not so heavy as what I trained in.”

“And now you’re stronger and faster as well as accustomed to the armour. I’m familiar with the idea,” Shisui replies. Solas and Varric arrive with the tent canvas, and he seals it in next to the poles. Everything else can go easily in their packs.

“Personally, I prefer something a bit lighter,” Varric says, patting his coat. “Covers all the vitals, but leaves room for more mobility.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Cassandra is nearly as mobile as you, actually,” Shisui says, even as Cassandra opens her mouth to retort. “With the right training, there’s nothing preventing someone in heavy armour from doing just about anything you can do even without armour entirely.”

“What, really?” Varric asks, arching a skeptical eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen it?” Shisui asks. “I have. I don’t want to try it myself, if I don’t have to, mind. I prefer a flak vest or light armour if I have to wear something.”

They take a minute or two to sweep camp then, before heading out, moving downslope as quickly as possible, with Cassandra leading the way to break the path. Shisui and Solas take the flanks, and as always, Varric is watching their backs. Shisui really appreciates having such a reliable guy at the back.

The party moves quickly; once or twice Cassandra calls a halt, and sends Shisui or Solas ahead to check the stability of their path, but for the most part, she just sets her shoulder and ploughs on through. The snow starts up again when they have been on the move for about half an hour, but it quickly becomes the cold, dreary rain that Varric was dreading, and before long, they're trudging through slush and mud instead of snow.

Shisui has never been happier to be able to walk on top of all that shit in his life, and that includes the series of D-ranks he did at the Morihana's dairy farm when he was a kid.

(Never. Again. Cows are  _ terrifying. _ )

He thinks they're all glad when they reach the road again. It's cobblestone here, and elevated slightly from the land around it, letting the rain wash down into ditches beside.

"Finally, back on the actual road. You know, I like you Fluffy, but I'm not really keen on all these off-road experiences you've taken us on," Varric says.

"If I had any idea you hated a bit of mud and snow so much, I would have definitely taken us through the bandit blockade," Shisui replies. "Just for you Varric, I won't go around the next fight we see."

"Now I never said we shouldn't avoid fights. Just... avoid them on the road."

"Oh, you mean with bribes, tricks, and sneaking?" Thunder cracks overhead, but the trees are apparently too thick here, even over the road, for the lightning to have reached them.

"Yeah, like civilised people," Varric agrees. He's half-joking, Shisui thinks, but honestly, it's not a bad idea. He should have thought of it in the first place; sure, Cassandra's not a sneaky type, but Shisui's genjutsu is more than good enough to compensate.

"Then we'll do that next time," Shisui declares. "It'll be fun!"

_ Yes _ he could just sneak up and slit throats, and he probably will at some point, but that's not always the best tactic, and he knows it.

"I am not sure that we agree on what counts as 'fun'," Cassandra says, disapproval heavy in her voice.

"Probably not," Shisui allows cheerfully. "But we  _ can _ agree on what counts as efficient tactics, right? And refraining from engagement with extraneous parties is much more efficient. I just think that we should try it the fun way next time."

He sees the flicker of lightning overhead this time, and he counts out seven seconds until the thunder rolls.

“What do you do for fun, kid? You know, when you’re not doing all... this?” Varric asks.

“Hmm... for fun?” Shisui considers it. It has been a long time since anyone actually asked him that. And lately, even before he woke up here, he hadn’t had much time for ‘fun’ or ‘relaxation’—tensions in the clan and the village, trying to balance his duty to both with the demands of each, and  _ also _ trying to make sure Itachi comes out of it all alive and in one piece...

“I like to read,” he says, just when he senses things are starting to get uncomfortable. “And I like learning new things. I like spending time with my best friend, Itachi; then it doesn’t really matter what I’m doing, it’s fun ‘cause we’re doing it together.”

He has been a much better best friend to Itachi than he was to the last one.

Except for the ever-encroaching rumble of thunder, they walk in silence for a minute or two.

“I am sorry that whatever brought you to us took you so far from your home,” Solas says, finally. “Though I cannot say I am entirely so; who can say where we would be if you were not here?”

“The Maker’s hand brought you to us, and I believe that we can trust in—“

Shisui is not Hatake Kakashi, with his legendary  _ raikiri _ . He is not the Fourth Hokage, with his  _ hiraishin _ .

He is  _ Shunshin no Shisui _ , with his training and experience and the feeling of hair rising on the back of his neck is all he needs to grab Cassandra and  _ move _ , trusting that Solas will do the same with Varric.

The shockwave and the sound of a natural lightning strike roll over them, but Shisui doesn’t feel the electricity itself, even touching Cassandra’s armour.

“Sound off!” Shisui calls.

“Here!” Cassandra obligingly calls, even though she’s right beside him. (She’s military, and it shows. It’s useful.)

“Here!” Solas calls. “Varric took part of it, and he cannot speak yet.”

“We’ll be there in a sec,” Shisui calls back, before turning to Cassandra. “What about you?”

“I am fine,” she replies. “Your speed saved us both.”

“Yeah, it does that,” Shisui agrees, to another clap of thunder.

The road is cracked and scorched where the bolt struck, and yeah, that was  _ right _ where Cassandra was standing; that was too close.

“Over here,” Solas calls, probably having spotted them. There’s a faint greenish glow about his hand, not unlike the glow produced by  _ shousenjutsu _ , where he’s holding it to Varric’s shoulder. Solas glances up at both of them, the familiar calculation of a medic performing triage.

“We’re fine,” Shisui says. “I’m fast.”

“An understatement, if I have ever heard one,” Cassandra adds. “That bolt blackened the ground, but it never touched me. What about you, Solas?”

“I have some resistance,” Solas admits, lips twitching like he wants to grimace. “Varric took the worst of it, I think, but it is not outside my ability to heal.”

“Lucky. Me. Huh?” Varric grits out, his voice rough with pain and muscle constriction.

“Ah, good, you’re talking. That means I’m almost done,” Solas says. He moves his hand down, and Varric automatically lifts his arm in the fashion of someone who’s had more than one trip to the medics over the years. Shisui watches him, but doesn’t interrupt Solas’ concentration; medical ninjutsu is  _ hard _ , even for dedicated medics, which Solas definitely  _ isn’t. _

“Thank you for your patience, Master Tethras,” Solas says, when he finally pulls away, the glow of his hand fading. “Healing is not my specialty, but I—“

“Chuckles, you saved my life,” Varric interjects. “And healed the damage. That’s good enough for me. Shit.” He rolls his neck, and flexes his arm, pulling his coat and kit back on.

“Are you good to walk?” Shisui asks.

"Yeah kid, I'm good. Might have to start calling you 'Thunderbolt' rather than Fluffy, but I'm fine," Varric replies. Shisui laughs.

"I don't know, I'm not sure I look like a 'Thunderbolt'. Fluffy suits me much better. It's disarming." Varric laughs in turn, and gives Shisui a friendly clap on the arm.

"All right, fair enough. Fluffy it is, Fluffy," he says. "Let's get back on the road. There's a roadhouse along here that we can make, if we push it."

"If it is the one I am thinking of, it is barely a step above a bandit flophouse," Cassandra says, with a disapproving scowl.

"Perfect!" Shisui declares. "We can get some intel on what we're going into, and that sounds like the kind of place we might find one of Leliana's people lurking around, right?" Cassandra looks like her skin is crawling at the thought, and maybe she's not really the kind of person who usually ends up in that kind of place, but she'll have to put up with it, especially if it'll get them out of the weather. And Shisui honestly loves that kind of place; full of gossip, and fuller of people who want him to take their money and important papers.

"I don't care if it's full of darkspawn, if it gets us out of this weather," Varric says. Thunder obligingly rolls to punctuate his statement.

"He raises a good point," Solas adds. "It is only due to the fact that both Shisui and I can Fade step that we are all alive."

"If you're worried about fleas and lice, I have some repellent," Shisui offers.

"I am worried about them now," Cassandra mutters. "Very well. Let us go to Varric's flophouse."

"Roadhouse," Varric corrects. "There's a difference."

The petty argument continues for a while as they get back on the road--or rather, the woods that parallel the road, not willing to risk attracting the wrath of the storm gods again.

(But no, seriously, Shisui's not religious, but he'd really like to know who offended the storm gods, and what the local  _ kami _ accept for offerings.)

Shisui takes point again, hopping into the trees to do so; it's much more comfortable for him, than slogging along through the mud and underbrush. The perspective is helpful too, letting him see further down the road, and pick up any trouble.

Luckily, the weather is bad enough that it seems to be keeping any wildlife or bandits or other travellers somewhere warmer and drier. Unlike Shisui and his team, who have a mission, and can't put it off.

_ Sigh _ .

It's still pouring when they take fifteen minutes to eat and re-adjust their gear, and it's still pouring when they get back on the road again, still moving at what Shisui considers a snail's pace. It's not just that Varric has short legs, though he does. Cassandra is slow, and even Solas, who he feels  _ should _ be moving faster, is slow, however light he is on his feet.

He swallows down a noise of frustration, and leaps for the next tree. And.

...he’s an idiot.

Maybe it’s a dumb idea, but he can afford the chakra cost of a single  _ kage bunshin _ , leaving the clone to lead the party, and scouting ahead himself. He wants to gauge the character of the roadhouse, and more importantly, he  _ needs _ to stretch his legs. The trees here feel different to what he's used to, and it's not just because they aren't Hashirama trees.

It's not that he's a sensor-type, because sharingan aside, he's really not, but you don't need to be a sensor to  _ feel _ the difference in the trees around Konoha, he thinks. This is quieter. Colder. The negligible effort needed to stick to a tree is even different, and the longer he's here, the more he  _ notices _ it.

He  _ knows _ that he is unfathomably far from home, the night sky is proof enough of  _ that _ \--two moons,  _ two moons _ , what the  _ hell _ \--but he's trying not to think about it while he's on a mission. Or at all.

Moving at a normal pace, it isn't long at all before he reaches the roadhouse. It actually looks fairly well-appointed: less a roadhouse, and more a proper roadside inn. He can see the kitchen, a long, high-roofed portion of the building with several smoking chimneys, and the two stories of what a quick investigation reveals to be rooms for rent of quality running from 'shared bunkroom' to 'the Chief wouldn't disapprove.' Not fancy, but definitely more than a couple of steps above 'bandit flophouse'.

Slipping into the common room is almost enough to change his mind about that assessment, because the woman behind the bar (dwarf, blonde hair, tattooed face, missing part of one ear) is the  _ least _ suspicious person there, and he's including himself. (He puts himself somewhere in the middle of the scale, if only because nobody has noticed him yet, and you can't be suspicious of someone you aren't aware of! But he is aware that that in itself is inherently suspicious. It's important to be self-aware.)

There's a hooded elf in one corner, watching the room with piercing yellow eyes; a staff leaning in the corner next to them goes a long way to explaining why the tables around them are clear. Most of the rest of the clientele are humans of varying types, the most outstanding being a tall man with what looks like half an entire tree for a prosthetic leg. Three dwarves--two with the same facial tattoo as the bartender sitting at one end of the bar, and one with a bare face at the other--and two more elves, both carrying serving trays and dancing nimbly through the crowd round things out.

A young human woman comes in through the swinging door that leads to the kitchens, another tray--full of steaming dishes--hefted on her shoulder. Her arms are as thick as his own; it's pretty impressive.

Shisui climbs to the ceiling, and moves across the room, pausing now and then to listen in. One asshole makes an unwarranted comment about women, the kind of thing that'd make Ma put a kunai through his foot, so Shisui feels no regret about fishing out his coin purse with a bit of wire. Nobody notices.

_ Civilians. _

Mostly.

He heads over to the kitchen, just to take a look, and it’s pretty much what he expects: busy cook, busier helpers, a huge pantry, cellar access, hidden compartments perfect for valuable and rare ingredients, or clandestine exchange of goods, or both. From the kitchen, there's a back door into the rooms for rent that he slips through when an Academy-aged boy comes through with an empty tray.

Twenty minutes of poking around confirms his guess that the bottom floor is all bunkrooms, stacked three tall against each wall, for a total of nine in each room. He takes a look, but nobody's been dumb enough to leave any of their things unattended in a shared room. Shame.

The second floor is single rooms with locks, and only one is occupied; he can hear two people inside, arguing quietly, but it's in one of the languages he doesn't know. He spends and idle couple of minutes listening anyway, until he hears the sharp report of a smack, and an outraged gasp, followed by a dark-haired woman of middling height stomping out in heeled boots, leaving a fuming blonde woman with a reddening mark on her cheek behind.

Keeping his snickers to himself, Shisui peeks into their room, and moves on, promising himself another look later, if it warrants it.

He finds little of interest until he encounters another sneak in one of the rooms. He stays on the ceiling to watch, sharingan spinning as he memorises what the other spy is taking, copying, or otherwise paying attention to.

None of it means anything to him; everything is written in a language he doesn't know, what he thinks is  _ Orlesian _ , and he guesses Leliana is right. He'll have to learn it sooner rather than later.

Still unnoticed, he slips out onto the roof through the window the other spy left open, and heads over to check out the stable. One horse, one stableboy whittling something, and paying not much attention at all to said horse. No saddlebags.

A survey of the area around the roadhouse reveals a number of traps, all of them crude, and likely intended to catch animals rather than people. Given the rabid bear they encountered, he's not surprised.

In the distance, the thunder rolls again, and he looks up out of habit, watching the clouds. The rain here is relatively light, compared to what it was before he went into the roadhouse, and he doesn't mind it, what little falls on him, perched up in a tree the way he is.

A pair of armoured people comes up from downslope, toward the Hinterlands. They're both wet, and muddy, and rather sad looking, and wearing tabards with the sword symbol that he now knows is the symbol of the Templars. One of them points to the roadhouse, and the other shakes their head.

Curiously, Shisui moves closer, to listen.

"--make it to Haven tonight. I  _ know _ what the map says, but it's a  _ bad _ one!" says the one who pointed at the roadhouse.

"I don't want to stop when we're almost there, Lia!" the other complains. Two Templars, heading for the Inquisition. From what Shisui understands, that should make Commander Cullen happy, at any rate. If they make it. He thinks about the weather ahead on their way, and sighs silently to himself.

A quick henge to the form of a rather average-looking woman--medium brown hair, and eyes, a little pale, maybe thirty--and he drops to the ground and clears his throat.

"Hey, I couldn't help but overhear, you're on your way to Haven? You're at least a day and a half out on foot. And there's a bad snowstorm upslope," he says.

"What, really?" the still nameless Templar say, at the same time as Lia says,

"I  _ told _ you!" and thumps her partner on the shoulder. "Thank you, miss...?"

"Mina," Shisui offers. "Ask for the second floor middle-side room; it's unoccupied, and away from the common room and the stables."

“I’m Lia, and this is Triss—“

“—Patrice—“

“—Triss. We were heading to the Conclave, but got delayed. Lucky for us, I guess. Now we’re going up to Haven just to find out what happened—what  _ really _ happened, I mean, and not all those rumours that are going about.”

Shisui smiles a little.

“Good luck,” he says. “I hear there might be bandits, too.”

“We’re not worried about them,” Patrice says confidently. “But thanks for the warning, anyway. Come on, Lia, we’d best go in.”

When Lia hesitates, looking at Shisui, he waves them off.

“Don’t wait on my account, I’m just enjoying the rain.” They both laugh, and head for the roadhouse, and easy as that, Shisui melts back into the shadows, hopping back up a tree as he drops the henge.

He spends perhaps another hour surveilling the roadhouse, but the most interesting thing that happens is the stableboy trading shifts with another, slightly younger, stableboy. So he leaves another clone (he can still spare the chakra), and heads back up the road to rejoin the rest of his party.

A quick  _ kawarimi _ while his clone is ranging ahead, a few seconds to process its experience, and no-one is the wiser when Shisui comes back from his ranging.

“Shouldn’t be more than another hour,” Varric is saying when he gets back. “You find anything likely to eat us this time, Fluffy?”

“Just the mud, as usual,” Shisui replies, grinning as Varric laughs.

They arrive at the roadhouse without any further incident. Cassandra looks pleasantly surprised at the state of it, but when they open the door, Varric’s eyes go right to the bartender and the two tattooed dwarves at one end of the bar, and narrow.

“Carta,” he mutters. “They’re trouble, but I’ll explain later, kid,” he adds, before striding off across the room to talk to the bartender. She flirts with him, or tries to, before whistling sharply. A human man playing cards at one of the tables folds his hand, and waves Varric over.

It takes about five minutes, but Varric secures them rooms and baths, and dinner, and breakfast.

“Dinner they’ll bring up,” he says, as he hands out keys. “Breakfast in bed is an extra charge, so I told him we’d just come eat with the rabble.”

“Tell them to bring cold water if it’s faster,” Shisui says. “I can heat it.”

With all the rain outside, he could cast a  _ suiton _ jutsu or two to fill the tubs as well, but his  _ suiton _ is really not very good at all.

“Save your mana,” Solas interjects. “I know it is tempting to use magic for every little thing, but you have been spending yourself all day in little ways, that will eventually add up.”

“Tree-running doesn’t really take anything,” Shisui protests.

“Be that as it may, you know that is not what I am talking about.”

That. Wait. If Solas is some kind of sensor, then he can probably sense that Shisui’s missing half his chakra from having the clone on surveillance. Which means...

Shisui dismisses the clone at a distance (nothing interesting), and watches with some satisfaction as Solas’s eyebrows rise up, fractionally. Shisui just grins in response.

“I suppose cold water will do after all, if you can do something like that.”

Varric shrugs, and goes to tell the cards-playing man (and likely proprietor of the roadhouse; salt-and-pepper hair, dark eyes, male-pattern baldness, missing his left pinky), who actually looks at their party, eyes Solas, and nods.

“Lucky for you, Gregor’s a practical man,” Varric says, as they head upstairs. “And doesn’t mind mages. We’re down at the far end.”

They have two rooms, and some quick discussion has Shisui rooming with Cassandra, and Varric and Solas in the other one. The rooms are across from each other, not adjacent, but that doesn’t much matter with a trapper in each room.

Baths and dinner arrive at the same time, and they all pile into Shisui and Cassandra’s room to eat.

“Gimme just a sec,” Shisui says, taking a quick taste of everything, waits, and then nods. “Probably not poisoned.”

“Probably—ah, well, the Carta presence here means you’re right to be a bit paranoid,” Varric says.

“You mentioned they’re trouble,” Shisui replies. “You also promised to explain.”

“So I did. All right. We eat, and I’ll give you the quick-and-dirty on the Carta.”

And, as it turns out, the structure of dwarven society—‘proper’ Orzammar dwarven socity—as a whole, because at least basic knowledge of their complex caste system seems to be vital to understanding the whys and wherefores of the Carta.

It reminds Shisui of Kiri in a way, and he doesn’t like it. When he says as much, Varric replies sardonically,

“Why do you think so many of us chose to live up here? I won’t say we don’t have our own troubles, but at least if someone can’t tell a hammer from a rock we don’t try to make them be a smith just because that’s what their parents were. But that’s not your problem, or even my problem,” he adds.

“All right,” Shisui agrees, letting the matter go for the moment. He wants to know more, but it can wait. “What’s important is whether these Carta people are a threat to us right now.”

“Probably not,” Varric says, some reluctance in his voice. “I mean, technically speaking, I don’t even know for sure that they’re Carta—they might just be poor casteless bastards kicked out of Orzammar. But you get to know a certain type, and sometimes, you just  _ know _ .”

“I believe we all understand,” Cassandra says. There’s a deep frown on her face. “I do not like leaving them to their own devices.”

“Nobody does Seeker, but we’re not exactly in a position to do anything about them. Even with the bartender, they might be just passing through.”

“Organised crime can be troublesome, but they also have their uses,” Shisui says thoughtfully. “There are smuggler’s holes here, built into the structure of the roadhouse, so they’ve probably been part of the local flavour for a while now. I think we should leave dealing with them to Leliana, and stick to worrying about our own mission.”

“I—yes,” Cassandra agrees, frowning. “You are right; Leliana will know best how to handle them.” She doesn’t seem happy, but her type—straightforward and honourable—never is about these things. Shisui has seldom had to work with them back home, and it’s kind of... strange. The Inquisition had limited personnel though, and an even more limited list of people Shisui feels comfortable with at his back in a fight. Cassandra is  _ solid _ ; if they ever have real differences, she will, he thinks, tell him to his face.

It’s nice.

After dinner, Shisui heats baths for everyone in turn, and pulls out something clean and dry for them to wear. After baths, their wet, muddy clothes get dunked in the least-messy tub—Shisui’s—and wrung out to hopefully dry overnight.

A rapidfire discussion afterwards, and they decide on traps rather than setting a watch; everyone deserves a good night’s sleep after the weather they’ve been through. It’s fun discussing trap philosophy with Varric, however briefly, and before long, the two rooms are as safe as they can be.


End file.
